


Persian Delights

by settely



Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Alexander the Great - Fandom
Genre: Ancient History, Angst, Character Bashing, Character Study, Depression, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hallucinations, Het and Slash, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Other, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/settely/pseuds/settely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beautiful things could be replaced by lesser but more eager ones, couldn't they? What would happen if Hephaestion one day fed Alexander a dose of his own medicine?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing here belongs to me. Characters are historical and this thing is being based on history as well as on the film Alexander by Oliver Stone. It's an AU story when it comes to certain things as you may notice. I'd be ever so grateful for every piece of feedback on it. Thanks in advance for everything.

At first it was nothing. Alexander was notorious for having lines and lines of people fall at the slightest move of his hand. Even back in Macedon, down onto their faces, cowering in awe they went. They flattered him, got a piece of gold nothings in return and quickly went their merry ways. Some stayed for a night and others kept coming back for more until the king himself would tell them to pack their things because a dangerous campaign awaited him and his army, even when no plans had been presented yet. Never was Hephaestion the one to ask Alexander for his reasoning behind this charade, and never did Alexander himself come to Hephaestion to talk about it.

An always warmed-up bed was a secret everyone knew about, and anything Hephaestion had or wanted to say, did not matter those days anyway. Since they had come and got every piece of jewelry or metal a mortal man could dream of obtaining, nothing seemed to continue its flow like back in the old times. Maybe it was just him? Getting old, beauty flowing out with each wound and illness sweaty with fever?

That Persian whore was indeed beautiful. He looked at them with big, child-like and yet devilishly aware eyes, spying on every move or gesture Hephaestion made at Alexander’s side. It was only fair, he thought, because one day the boy would be as easily replaced not only in the mind but also in the bed of the king's, as Hephaestion himself had been. The general sometimes mused to himself, whether that made them more alike, than either of them would ever care or dare to admit. An eunuch and a chiliarch were worth exactly the same in the eyes of the men, women and the great conqueror himself. They both were as pathetic and tainted as a newborn babe without a name.

Some would say there was still love. But where were its claims, Hephaestion asked himself continuously, looking at paintings being done in the corridors. Of great Achilles, Thetis, Zeus, Paris' demise. The great king insisted on keeping a piece of Troy's tale everywhere he went. A copy of at his bedside, constant remarks: _it's our tale, Hephaestion, my Patroclus; I am nothing without you, just like Achilles without his beloved;  my sanity, beloved, never leave me, please_. For a corpse without his soul when the general was away or doing his duties, Alexander's body never ceased to function properly in bed with others, Hephaestion thought bitterly.

He showed nothing of his thoughts daily, for what use would they be anyway? He and Alexander did not meet as frequently as they once used to. Plans of great conquests and adventures laid endlessly upon the many tables, consuming the whole time they could spend together and the latter's mind. They touched lastly a month or so ago, and even that fleeting kiss was quick and bitter. Maybe it was the wine or the lasting Persian smell that repulsed him that night so much as not to lead Alexander into his chambers? Hephaestion honestly did not know the answer any more.

The new shining brightly Achilles was engrossed in his plans, sulking from time to time and head over heels for his Briseis, who was more than ready to give him the heirs his mother continued on requesting. Hephaestion was not the one to keep his heart on the platter and even though days kept on passing, his bed cold as a witch's caress **,** it was all fine. One night the king would come back, sober and fragrant, and kiss him till their bodies would seethe with passion.

He wondered if Bagoas had dreamt of the same thing those many months ago, when Alexander was still at Hephaestion's side more often than at his, when the world seemed to glisten with warmth instead of the yellow bile now filling Hephaestion’s every thought. It was no use thinking of the whore, however. There would always be winners and losers, and Hephaestion knew he was the one at the bottom now. He ought to spare the pity for himself, not the victor.It would not take a big thing to tip him over, Hephaestion knew. It would be a detail, a too long glare casted at that pitiful shell of a man which called itself Bagoas or a drunken brawl Alexander would once again provoke with only Ptolemy or Hephaestion himself skilled enough to reason with him. Wine began to flood them a while ago and he wondered just how much exactly Alexander tried to live up to all of the standards Aristotle once told them so much about. Perhaps he did all he could to stick to them, with not talking to his once Patroclus being the greatest restraint he could ever muster his strength to uphold.

In other words, it was all fine.

Bagoas cracked a smile every once in a while at him in the halls nowadays, his pitch black hair glistening in the sun, and his once grim expression upon seeing him smoothly washed away from his face . His eyes shone with light Hephaestion once thought himself to possess but now nothing of it mattered. Each time he would keep his head high however, and march with back as straight as a line into his chambers. Only after the curtains were drawn together and the sleep just would not come, he wondered what it all could mean. Perhaps yet another whore was waiting patiently at the king's door during those colder nights? On the other hand, did it really even matter anymore?

Hephaestion was lost but he would sooner die than ever say it out loud.


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ohrmazd, Angra Mainyu - gods of Persian religion.
> 
> * Amyntor, Hephaestion's father, was thought to have Athenian roots.
> 
> *Demosthenes was a famous Athenian speaker always telling his compaions to fight for the independence of Greece under Macedonian's reign.

„Bagoas, come back at once!" 

The king bellowed down the corridor, storming out from one of the chambers on the first floor. He was clad only in his swishy night robe, its wide flowing sleeves rolled up his elbows, no sandals on his feet and his hair in total mess. He seemed to be in a great hurry while his eyes kept on shining with such a great fury that guards unlucky enough to have a night shift then fled from their places the moment they noticed his brawny frame coming. He paid them no attention though, scanning the building carefully, looking into every corner and lighting every torch. He wasn't drunk this time luckily, face flushed with anger rather than extra cups of wine.

That despicable little rat. He thought himself so clever now, didn't he? Just because he kept the bed of the king of Macedon warm, he had no rights to boast around about unrealistic things he could do thanks to that. He thought he could voice his opinion on everything? He thought that because of his beauty Alexander would alter his decisions? Maybe he even thought he was the most important man for him now? Oh no, dear Persian boy. Oh no.

"Bagoas, I know where you're hiding! Show yourself like a man you're thought to be!"

_It had been a peaceful evening, quite an ordinary one, Alexander had to say. They were lying in his bed side by side with him reading some older correspondence. Bagoas looked over his arm from time to time, trying to read the words too. There were still troubles with that old fool Demosthenes, even though at least a dozen uprisings had been already brought to a halt under Alexander's reign and nothing would change for Athens or any other Greek city soon. They should all stop trying because for all he cared, they'd never had a chance against the new Macedonian-Persian army. The old order fell apart and they should come to terms with that one day; his father sure tried to quicken these things but even with that, they just didn't seem to learn anything. Well, Chaeronea, Thebes and smaller victories proved a point and Greece should never underestimate anyone from his family ever again, Alexander mused to himself, lazily circling his hand across Bagoas stomach._

_It was smooth, with lightly outlined muscles and fantastic, brownish skin hot underneath the king's fingers, as if the boy spent the whole day basking in the Sun instead of accompanying and attending to his every need. He was as warm-blooded as Hephaestion, Alexander smiled silently, thinking back to their older times together. Now something broke, he could feel it growing and gnawing at his head. His beloved never waited for him any longer, their eyes didn't meet during talks among the generals even though Alexander tried time and time to catch even the corner of his iris and lead it onto himself. His Patroclus seemed to be slipping away from his grasp with a lightning speed and he felt utterly hopeless. Warm arms of the eunuch welcomed him every night, sweetening all bitter thoughts with meaningless chatting (he missed those talks with his lover on politics, poetry and even the Illiad; even though every detail of Hephaestion's thoughts could be brought from his own memory, they never got old for him), high-pitched moans or flowery-fragranced baths._

_(He sometimes wondered what Hephaestion did during those nights he spent with the Persian rolling in-between the sheets. Did he have anyone other than Alexander to keep him company? Guilt was eating him alive every time now the sleep wouldn't come as easily as usually in the arms of the slave but every time he reached his hands towards him, his Patroclus was long gone into the night, leaving him trembling in the middle of the corridor with things he didn't fully understand.)_

_"You seem to be lost in your thoughts once again, my king" deep voice of the boy sobered Alexander a bit, bringing him back to the world of mortals. He wondered briefly, if Hypnos could give him a peaceful sleep that night, concern in Bagoas' words already forgotten by him. Hephaestion called him "his king" when they quarreled. Funny how fitting the eunuch's lips those two words now were. "Perhaps you should rest now, my lord, and forget about that Athenian."_

_Alexander tensed on the drips of venom with which Bagoas said his last words. He glanced sideways at his face, kohl-rimmed eyes shining at him with not at all hidden hurt and sadness. The boy brought his hands up the king's face, his lips angry red and too full all of the sudden. "I am here, my king. No need to worry your mind with irrelevant things like those set before you now, my lord."_

_It seemed wrong. Utterly and frankly ill-mannered. Alexander looked at the eunuch fully then, slightly backing off from the middle of the bed onto his own side. He felt himself slipping a bit, unease setting into the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what to think of all of this and soon it was anger rather than shock playing in his veins. It all happened so quickly he wasn't even sure why it all began. "Who are you to talk in such a manner to your king, boy? You may be my servant but no servant speaks in such a way to their master!"_

_The Persian opened his eyes widely at his harsh words, sneering though the next moment slightly. "My lord, I may be your slave but slaves would never be blind enough not to see things that man does with you. Show him his place, my king or else you might get quite a surprise."_

_" **Enough!** " Alexander couldn't believe his ears. Just what this good for nothing but pleasuring him snake thought he was implying? He leaped to his feet, swaying slightly as the cold floor hit his tensed muscles. Bagoas' eyebrows went up his forehead, his face changing slowly with each expression. He began to creep down the covers, opposite from Alexander, eyeing him with growing with each seconds pupils. "I have never heard such an insolent phrase from your lips before, Bagoas! What is the meaning of this? Who do you think you are to say anything of that sort? Answer me, slave!"_

_Bagoas understood finally what it was all about upon hearing the new tone. It was as strong as a wave taking down sailors during a storm on the sea, as furious as only Angra Mainyu could have been after his quest for light. He didn't mean any of his words this way! It wasn't about the general, he would never dare to say anything harsh about him in front of the king himself, no matter how envious and unhappy he would be upon seeing that man! It was about the man from the letters! He just caught his name and the city right this time and wanted to help, to give an advise his king seemed so in need of. Oh good Ohrmazd, what he had gotten himself into, oh Ohrmazd! He was blinking rapidly, inching towards the door step by step, trying not to lose Alexander from his eyes even for a moment. He didn't honestly know what would happen if he did. The latter was beginning to circle the bed, staring at him with madness neatly written all over his features._

_"My king," Bagoas tried not to tremble from head to toe when Alexander shook violently, eyeing his throat. Oh you fool, Bagoas. You dammed fool! Never should you had imagined being by his side as an equal one day, never should those wrinkles under that Athenian's eye rejoice you so madly, promising future that could never come true. He was never any good when it came to reasoning with the king when he was enraged and this time it seemed he would be even more hopeless than usually. Oh, why did those dreams hurt now so? "I was talking about the politician you mentioned the other night, I thought, my lord, that it was him troubling your mind, my majesty! I wouldn't, I, my majesty, I..."_

_" **SILENCE, BOY!** " Alexander roared, grabbing a set of amethyst goblets from a nightstand and throwing them at him the next second. Bagoas was lucky enough to dodge them in time, mineral bouncing off of the wall behind him with a sickening echo, falling down in a rain of thousands violet sparkling splinters. "You are nothing compared to him, **nothing** , do you hear me?"_

_There were tears prickling at his eyes now but Bagoas cowered in fear only, trying to get away as soon as possible. Alexander hadn't drunk wine that night and yet he was far worse than even after the greatest feasts he had already organized since coming to Persia. "I thought, my lord, I…" He shuffled his feet closer to the entrance, half hoping the king wouldn't notice but it was already useless to think so for Alexander diverted his gaze for the first time from his breaking down slowly face and looked at their surroundings more clearly._

_After that one movement of his eyes, Bagoas didn't know what he was doing. It was all like a hazy dream, his scream, the frantic rush with which he opened the always closed door and just rhythm of his feet pounding onto the floor and into his ears. It was cold outside the chamber and he almost tripped himself over the first moment he felt his toes touch the freezing stones but the king's mad, bestial scream brought such a furious warmth into his body, Bagoas didn't feel anything but the blood circling through his veins like boiling water._

_Nothing but running made sense now. Nothing._

"You dirty whore, come back **HERE**!"

Alexander couldn't hear anything but his pulse echoing against the temple. That slimy little snake, that horrendous slut. Who he thought himself to be? Who indeed? He was getting tired of looking for him around the whole palace but the hot boiling anger he still felt inside himself couldn't let it pass. He wouldn't say anything foul on Hephaestion, not as long as he, Alexander, the king of Macedon and the conqueror of Asia had a say in it all. He wouldn't let it go, especially when it came to the lies. He, a mere Persian slave thought himself fitting for the politics? Not only insulting his Patroclus in his face but then lying and trying to defend himself with the pettiest arguments ever! Oh, Persian boy, oh, we'll see just how long you can run away before those slim legs of yours finally give up under that gorgeous body. We'll see…

He silently went up some more, glancing at a far away corner with no torches hung near it. Perfect, that little rat would be just there, trying to lick up wounds Alexander could never care less for as for now. Just a few steps more, silently…

There were two voices instead of one whining or crying though. Alexander glanced puzzled, hearing suddenly some shuffling of bodies or a material coming onto material. Those voices were sweet, murmuring some nothings into ears of each bearer of one of them. One was most probably feminine and the other… feminine as well? It seemed odd at best but he decided not to pay it much of a mind as for now. There were not many free women left in the palace whatsoever for some warmed the beddings of his generals or mere soldiers and the rest worked either in other parts of the building or far away, in the workshops outside the palace itself. Perhaps a pair of servants during a midnight talk then? Corridors were empty mostly save for some sentinels cowering in fear upon seeing him storm down the halls but maybe it was nothing but that.

There was just no sight of Bagoas it seemed and so Alexander decided to return to his bed. He'd have time when it came to punishing that slimy piece of nothingness thoroughly in the morning. It could wait a few more hours.

Now though, as the whole mad rage simmered inside himself a bit because of that curious pair, Alexander thought it would be a good idea to pay a nice nightly visit to one other person. Perhaps this one time he would be more welcome than those few last ones. He walked quickly down the corridor, the same way as his room. Hephaestion's chambers were a few steps farther than his own and so he came to a quick halt soon in front of them.

Those wooden doors of them were widely opened.


	3. Sadness

The room was dark, the whole oil in all the lamps already burnt-out. The air was heavy in Alexander's nostrils, filling them with a floral and spicy smell of various incenses as he went in farther, looking around. It was hard to make out the outline of the soft pillows on the floor, big windows illuminated by thousands lights from across the city or even those few tables loaded down with tones of scrolls some of which had been brought in only a few hours ago, not opened even once yet, and he was fairly grateful he didn't trip himself over anything. The whole mess surprised Alexander a bit. Hephaestion had always been the more particular and well-organized of the duo, even back in Mieza, always remembering as many things as possible and repeating them over and over until he knew the most important ones by heart. Now this place was crumbling into itself, king began to see with widening pupils and his lips going dry. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness falling all around the place, he finally noticed the torn mass of curtains lying pitifully on the windowsill, a few ripped open (with a sword perhaps?) Persian cushions he himself had given Hephaestion a while back now and a few fragmented cups. Clothes of the general were lying scattered around the place as well, a chiton on the sofa, a few chlamyses rumpled at the feet of two chairs just a step away from him. Alexander didn't know what to think of all of this and soon, guilt found that well-known place in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't seen his Patroclus too often these days, all the less his chambers. He wouldn't have done that this particular evening as well, he thought, if it hadn't been for that horrendous brat and his lies.

Alexander cursed quietly under his breath, moving the clothes lightly with the tips of his toes. His feet were freezing by now, stones of which the floor was made too hard and sharp onto his skin. His gaze wandered off to the walls, taking in all of the paintings and ornaments finely made upon each of them. Hephaestion said he loved them. Precious stones and gold shined in the moonlight onto his eyes from them, beautiful rugs made of golden thread soundproofing lightly the sudden bursts of shouting and singing form the outdoors. He gazed sharply at the windows the second he thought he recognized some of the voices. His soldiers seemed to be enjoying themselves tonight, pearly feminine laughter mixing with the masculine-sounding voices from time to time.

Alexander bit his lower lip thoughtfully at that, glancing finally at the large bed in the farthest corner of the whole room. It had its canopy's cerulean curtains drawn together air-tightly, not even a sound of breathing coming from there. Perhaps Hephaestion wasn't even in the room any more (now that Alexander thought about it, the moment he leaped after Bagoas out of his own room, the doors to this one hadn't been opened yet). Finally he sighed deeply, crossing the remaining distance with a few wide steps. Sooner or later, he'd had to have a talk with his beloved, whether he desired it this exact moment or not, especially after that full of jealousy talk of the whore. Anger roused in him the moment he thought about the boy and had to clench his jaw tightly not to let a scream. That insolent, pitiful…

More important tasks were though now at hand and the king breathed deeply, forgetting almost instantly about the Persian the moment he drew the curtains apart with one swift movement.

"Hephaestion?"

Alexander wasn't as surprised at the sight that greeted his eyes as he'd thought he'd be. The great general Amyntoros was lying on his bed silently, clenching his brought up the chest knees with his eyes tightly closed. He wasn't wearing Persian robes any longer, an old sweated blood-red chiton clinging to his arms and legs instead. He could be sleeping but Alexander knew that body and its bearer too well to be fooled by that façade. Hephaestion's face looked older somehow, he noticed with full brutality of the first closer contact since well… Ages, it seemed. His cheeks were much more hollow from what Alexander learnt with his fingertips all those nights spent together, more sad wrinkles around those gorgeous eyes than he could ever imagine seeing one day on that beautiful face of his lover. It stung him with full force just how long it had been indeed since he lastly saw Hephaestion in all the beauty and charm he was the master of possessing. The smell of perspiration clang to the curtains and covers dauntingly and Alexander wondered briefly what exactly had happened that changed the general so completely over the past days. He lastly saw him acting just like this when they were barely teenagers and his mother forced them to part ways for more than a month because of some training sessions each of them had to take in different Greek cities.

He still remembered just how broken Hephaestion's expression was when he told him the plans made for them, barely holding back a sob himself. They were so close then, Alexander blinked with hesitation upon realizing the enormity of the wall that seemed to have roused between them. How and when exactly had it happened anyway? Since coming here, to Persia, in all honors or perhaps way sooner, just after the fall of Darius' assassin? Or it was nothing like that? Maybe something more trivial?

Had that slut told him something really unpleasant? Or maybe that fool Cassander wrote once again a letter full of foul words on him and the king? Rumors? No, nothing like this could have touched him that much, Alexander banished the thoughts nearly the exact moment he started thinking them. He was the strongest man Alexander had ever known and he envied him that, admiring the quality of his character all the same.

But maybe, just maybe, it was something else completely?

"I can sense your eyes being all over me, Alexander," Hephaestion's hoarse whisper was earsplitting in the silence of the room, echoing slowly against the walls. General's voice was broken somehow, monotonous, just as different from his usually defiant and vibrant one as night from day and Alexander couldn't bring himself not to frown upon hearing it. It seemed tired as if the man had run for a great length of time and yet freezing cold as if he had never seen the Sun in his life. "even with my own closed. Tell me whatever you want to and leave, please. I don't want to see anybody now."

Alexander glanced down at him, still standing with the material tightly clenched between his fists. He felt helpless once again upon seeing the sluggish motions of the other, his slow raspy breathing. Hephaestion draped an old blanket over himself after a second of looking for it blindly around, seeming to start trembling although it was nearly boiling hot in the room.

The taste of sadness upon his lips was starting to get insufferable, Alexander decided, looking straightly at the face which slowly hid itself into one of the many turquoise cushions that were scattered around the head of the bed. He didn't know how much time his beloved spent so far in such a condition (it burned to think he hadn't had time for him before, thinking rather of new conquests than the man himself) but it needed to stop this instant, whatever the cause was. He just couldn't look at the torture his Patroclus was putting himself through.

"Hephaestion, love, what happened?" He asked gently, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He tried to touch him but Hephaestion tensed visibly the second he felt his weight settling onto the mattress and burrowed his head deeper into the pillows, not even casting a glance back at the man. Alexander knitted his brows together at that, withdrawing his hand the next instance, hurt. What could it be that his beloved couldn't tell even him, the closest person to him on this pitiful earth? They were the Alexander, no secrets or great mysteries would come unnoticed on one's part. "You can tell me everything, I…"

"There's nothing to be told, my king" The man sat upright suddenly, startling the other greatly. His eyes shone with such a grim light Alexander couldn't find his breath for it wasn't his Patroclus this moment. He felt as if he was looking into a face of a stranger, Hephaestion's eyes unreadable and yet full of pain he had never even imagined possible to sustain. Those blue as sapphires orbs were bloodshot, swollen and glassy, as if he was enduring a great fever or something equally devastating to his body. Alexander felt the sting of panic slowly rising within him, not being able to believe fully what was happening.

Were those streaks of water on his cheeks tears?

"But, beloved, I…"

"My king, you have your people to see, servants to boss around and thousands of more important things to do than to chat with me right now." Hephaestion's eyes glistened with bare longing for a moment and then all of the sudden he looked disinterestedly at him, facing the wall the next moment. He snuggled into his blanket, a flash of pain going through Alexander's face at that. "Please go your own way. I don't want to be a burden for you tonight."

"You know you'd never be a burden for me."

"I want to be alone now. Please listen to me this one time, Alexander." He sounded as if he was about to cry and Alexander knew he just couldn't take it anymore. He looked pained at the broken figure on the bed one last time before storming out of the chamber with his face hidden in his hands.

It was all going to Tartarus this very moment at a lightning speed.


	4. Betrayal

As soon as Alexander opened the doors and stormed out with a silent gasp playing on his lips, Hephaestion stirred slowly on the bed, opening his eyes tiredly. He wanted to sob, to scream just like the king himself did during his fits but even though tears flowed down his cheeks in rivers, breaths hitched painfully against his throat, he felt anything but better, fighting hard not to let himself be ever fully consumed by it. Crying around wasn't his thing, emotions tangled and even more messy than before. But nowadays he simply couldn't ignore or deny their existence any longer, he realised the night he woke up weeping helplessly onto the cushions while dreaming of himself ending all of the pain with just a simple move of a knife.

Men were whispering now openly upon seeing him, not just behind his back, something he could've easily handled before. Now nobody but Ptolemy greeted him when entering the room the other generals were gathering in, pairs of opened widely eyes following his every move. Hephaestion knew they wouldn't ever dare to do anything risky in front of Alexander that could either clearly insult him or harm him physically. The king was rarely by his side now though and Hephaestion openly dreaded the moment he would find himself in a darker corner with any of them, Cratoros or even Cleitus. He heard himself all those years ago, when he was a still just mere soldier and began to love Alexander with all his heart that wouldn't be as welcome among them anymore the moment he fell out with the king because he was just a slut of his that could be replaced with a flicker of Alexander's wrist. In their eyes, he was anything but a hard working soldier he thought himself to be. He took part in every battle, among all of the men, sustained wounds many didn't make it to another day with but... He was just a slut, king's plaything not able to defend himself against them without the latter backing him up, men laughed loudly behind Alexander's back. Hephaestion doubted if even Hercules himself could do anything then, surrounded with vicious hatred he could never really grasp fully.

He was just a man. A soldier. A general. A Macedonian with Greek roots.

Alexander's companion.

He was definitely not anybody's whore.

He grimaced at the trail of Persian perfumes Alexander's robes left behind him, hanging damply in the air like a big, black cloud. He slowly raised himself, looking at his hands blankly, over the chiton he still wore from the last night, cushions digging into his back. The state of the room was pitiful but Hephaestion casted only a disinterested glance round it once, quickly falling onto the bed once again.

Sitting around like that was useless and he had been perfectly aware of that from the beginning. Destroying his possessions or plain laziness in the heat of the afternoon were just as senseless but he didn't care at the moment. Those things helped him calm down a bit. Start thinking more carefully and less hot-headed. He'd never wanted Alexander to have seen him in such a pitiful state for it was that dark part of himself he'd like not to think too often about.

He didn't attend the party tonight and he was sure many new gossips bloomed because of that, either about him crying his eyes our or trying to please the king in order to get back to be in his good books once again.

Hephaestion was too proud to beg for anything and even though treating Alexander this way he did those days hurt him deeply, there was no other choice left to make, he concluded suddenly, eyeing a few golden cups near his bed. They were beautifully decorated, an easily recognized Eastern style of sculpturing and thus looked like the most hideous things to him. Everything in this palace, general thought bitterly, reminded him of the fact that Alexander wasn't his alone any longer. Each piece of jewelry presented to him here shimmered the same way Bagoas' eyes did, each sculpture's frame in the halls as painfully different and more perfect from his own as it could get, wine soaked through with the smell of incense, music far too loud and sending shivers down his spine, not that those snake movements of the eunuch did anything else.

He played his fingertips over a small wooden medallion Alexander had given to him all those years ago, back in Macedon. It had a few lines from the Iliad engraved into itself and held a lock of the king's hair inside. Alexander had a similar one, with a lock of his. They were commissioned by him one day, ebony shimmering as darkly and newly-like as if they had been made yesterday. Alexander never took down his own for a moment just as Hephaestion never did. Even now, with that boy rolling in his bed and over himself, the king never replaced it with any gifts men offered to him in Persia, even pure gold necklaces. Hephaestion found some reassurance in that small gesture but it was just a gesture. Nothing more.

Romantic at best but just a gesture.

He'd had enough of the whole masquerade. He was the bearer of his heart and Alexander would be taught the most painful lesson he could've never mastered the will before Bagoas. He sure saw stray glances before, even back at Mieza, casted at other beautiful boys. Hephaestion could live with the guilt, could lie to himself that it wouldn't matter anymore because he was sick and tired of moping around, trying to live a dream that couldn't come true.

He was just one of the many, may it be the first one or the last, but still. He was just a number in Alexander's long list of companions.

Tears stung icily in his eyes but Hephaestion wiped them off with anger, getting himself quickly a set of new towels, robes and a big glassful of wine. He was the bearer of his own heart and Alexander, king or not, his friend or not, his love or not, would never stand in his way like that again.

Hephaestion snatched the strap from around his neck and pulled. It broke easily and he dropped it onto the ground, smashing the small medallion with the heel of his foot onto the ground. Wood broke into splinters, some of them cutting through his skin but he ignored the pain, staring down on the floor, huffing and trying as hard as he could not to break down and cry.

He didn't look back as he nearly sprinted out of his chambers at a neck-breaking speed, sadness and anger blending easily into a frantic excitement. Nearly all of the corridors were dark already, the last few torches' flames dying slowly, smoke going high into the air. It was considerably colder here in the halls, and gooseflesh arrived quickly on Hephaestion's skin.

Suddenly, he heard a muffled echo of laughter in a corner a few steps away to his left.


	5. Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Did we create a modern myth_   
>  _Did we imagine half of it_   
>  _What happened then, a thought for now_   
>  _Save yourself_   
>  _Save yourself_   
>  _The secret is out_
> 
>   **A Modern Myth** by 30 seconds to Mars

Hephaestion stared surprised at a pair in front of him, confusion melting slowly into mild curiosity. He didn't know how fast he had been walking but he found himself on the other side of the palace, far from Alexander's and his own chambers quicker than he would ever give himself the credit for before. He was used to walking up there when he had to think about something and this time his legs seemed to remember the beaten track better than his mind. The building was much more ascetic when it came to ornaments here than the other parts of it, white marble stones of the walls being illuminated daily by the moonlight or the sunlight as well as all of the long, straight-leading walks. It was the southern west wing and Hephaestion enjoyed every moment he could spend there. That part of the whole building was the smallest and the best lightened, thus each sculpture, carving or vases looked more beautiful here. There were a few storages in the rooms round this particular wing and if somebody did show there, it was most probably either a servant or somebody wanting to have some time for themselves. The perfect place for a lone wolf then. The last corridor, in the middle of which Hephaestion found himself now, divided into two parts, leading either to the western wing or down a couple sets of stairs to a great private terrace garden divided into at least four different sections dedicated to various plants and fruit trees, pools of water or ponds. A few wide walks led to each part, stones of them cutting into the greenest grass the general had ever seen in his life. There were groups of palm trees, a dozen of shrubs, a few cypresses he remembered seeing back in Greece, flowers with the most alluring smells and so much more! Time after time Hephaestion came there, he still found exiting things he could later ask the servants about, like those two weeks ago when one of them brought some strange looking green things for them to eat. The boy said they were Persian kind of nuts, really tasty and good for memory. Hephaestion laughed aloud upon seeing clear doubt in Alexander's eyes at his words, his own shining with curiosity. He scooped a fistful of them after a second of thinking and before his lover could say anything, took a few and placed them in his mouth. They tasted just deliciously, especially with sea salt and Hephaestion couldn't believe he'd never heard of them before. Natives had so many wonderful kinds of fruit there, like those sweet small purple oval ones with a big seed inside, big yellow watery ones which casted a heavenly smell just after halving and so on.

The most fond memories about Persia came from there. There he spent his lonely nights, there tried reasoning with himself and even though it still pained him to think so, those quiet surroundings did help him settle his mind. It was there where he could speak with Alexander freely, without any of the generals eavesdropping or Bagoas lurking in the distance. It was there where they freely hugged or kissed hungrily or even fed each other those magical, god-given fruit. It was there that Alexander laughed with him as loudly and brightly as they together only could and the most wonderful smell he could ever name would be the one of their bodies entangled together on the sun-baked grass.

It was the first place they made love just after coming to the palace and inspecting it thoroughly.

It was the place Hephaestion firstly thought of going back alone to Macedon.

It was the last place he'd willingly find himself now and yet, his wandering mind played a trick once again and brought him just there. There was no use to ponder on those thoughts much longer though, Hephaestion admitted quietly in the back of his head.

To his left, coming the way from the western wing, were two women. They couldn't be much older than Hephaestion, their hair glistering darkly in the light of two left torches from the wall. One of them had clearly Persian features, soft nearly black eyes, bronze skin with golden droplets of freckles, long raven-black straight hair and a slightly crooked nose. She was clad in a long violet skirt to the ground and a sleeveless, bulky shirt of the same colour that flattered her big breasts and wide hips.

He didn't think he had seen her around before but the other one seemed somewhat familiar.

She was way taller than her companion, a head or so and her hair was more curly and sandy, resembling a bit Alexander's with their length and texture. She was clad in a turquoise chiton with a few flowery ornaments on top of the ribbon she was tied up across her narrow waist. Her figure resembled more the one of a man rather than a woman, in contrary to the first one. Her chest was flat, hips nearly just as wide as her muscled shoulders, the whole silhouette bringing a column or a filer to the mind rather than an hourglass. She was gesturing animatedly with her hands while talking to the other, her greenish eyes sparkling with emotions. She wasn't beautiful by standards he once heard others mentioning but there was something about this girl that drove Hephaestion's attention instantly to her, forgetting all together about his previous plans. She moved with grace uncharacteristic for servants and her voice seemed to echo delicately among the empty walls.

Hephaestion felt his heart beat faster when they eyes finally met, her own widened with surprise upon seeing him.

"General Hephaestion Amyntoros!" She bowed swiftly, dragging her companion down as well, her cheeks a flushed red colour. It looked surprisingly good on her, Hephaestion mused, observing her lively face. Her lips were fuller than any woman's he had met in Greece or even around here so far, skin a much fairer colour, as if taken directly from the marble walls. She was prettier than he could imagine any girl his age looking. "Good evening, my lord. We were making sure nobody was wandering down the corridors so late at night. We're very sorry to have disturbed your night walk, general. It won't ever happen again."

Hephaestion smiled slightly, looking at her bowed face, ignoring the Persian beside her. He knew the girl from somewhere but just couldn't put his finger onto from where exactly. Her Greek was perfect, just a slight Eastern accent blemishing it and it couldn't be a mistake or a coincidence for there weren't many Macedonian or other older servants left in here any longer. They'd either had already died of some mysterious illnesses, wandered back to Greece with their masters or went working in the city rather than at the palace itself. He cleared his throat quietly, their eyes meeting once again. He blinked slowly at the intensity of the colour of her eyes. They were as green as the grass in the garden .

" There's no need to be sorry, I'm no exception when it comes to obeying any set rules," He smiled slightly, his gaze not leaving her for a moment. " General or not, I'm still living in here just like you yourself, girl."

She looked surprised at his reply but then smiled softly in return, the Persian looking agape at the exchange between them. It wasn't common for anyone to speak in such a manner to their servants, least comparing themselves to them. What an indeed peculiar man that general was! If they had come across any other man from the army this late at night, no one knew for sure what would happen, apart from the fact that no pleasant talk would take place. Or any talk, even an unpleasant one.

"I think I know you from somewhere, girl but I cannot possibly be sure whether I am right or not." Hephaestion whispered suddenly, coming closer to them, his tall frame being illuminated within the slowly dying light. He looked like a divine hero then, every muscle neatly lightened and perfectly visible through the thin chiton. There was a distant smell of sweat accompanying him, making them feel dizzy. It was just as impossible as it could get, they concluded silently, his eyes fixed unwaverly on the fair skinned one. It must have been a dream for no one could look like him in reality just then. "Are you from Greece? What is your name, girl?"

She looked puzzled and embarrassed for a second before breaking into a beautiful smile which blinded Hephaestion nearly on the spot. Her face grew even more beautiful with it plastered neatly and Hephaestion was slowly beginning to understand just why exactly she looked so familiar.

When she smiled, she looked like Alexander in their happiest moments.

"My name is Nemesia Philadelphia, my lord. I came here two months ago from Macedon with my sisters and brother to serve the great king and help others around, general." She flickered her gaze lightly to the side, breaking the eye contact, hurt playing momentarily on her face, quickly being replaced with a pleasant smile once again. "I used to serve back at the palace of the king's father, sir. I was one of the apprentices there when the king was still a child."

Hephaestion looked surprised at her, confusion apparent on his face. A servant from their childhood? She couldn't be older than three years at most from him so she had to be a child back then as well. He tried to recall anyone with hair as sandy as hers apart from Alexander but it was just no use. Every servant he could remember from then was either dark haired or too masculine to fit her exterior.

_Wait a second though, he jolted himself suddenly. There was once a beautiful boy with as green eyes as hers that showed them daily how to mound a horse when they were not older than thirteen. He was as strong as the soldier already, bow-legged from riding too much and yet there was no sign of facial hair on his face, in contrary to others his age. Hephaestion remembered vividly wondering for a few days about that, asking Alexander and his father if that would be possible to sustain for a longer period of time themselves._

_Alexander looked puzzled at him then, gesturing slightly to their chitons, "Phae," he whispered into his ear then, entwining their fingers shyly, "I don't think it's the matter of age or our condition. See, look at his clothes. Why are they longer than ours? Everyone wears shorter things than him, why's that? Only women wear as long chitons as him, don't they?"_

_Hephaestion knew that Alexander clearly didn't like the servant and casted jealous stares every time he helped Hephaestion onto and from his horse. He didn't like their talks together, Hephaestion's happy and excited questions concerning animals, stables and nature. He didn't like the way Hephaestion glanced dreamily at him when no one seemed to look and how eager he was always to help the other round the palace. There was no use to say anything that stupid and cruel though, even if he despised him greatly. Women among stable boys? "Xander, you are being just ridiculous now, you know that?" He snatched his hand free, storming away in the direction of the stables. "Quit acting like a brat and insulting Philo. He's my friend as well as you are. Quit it."_

_Alexander didn't share his things. Alexander didn't observe his things being snatched from his grasp inch after inch. Alexander didn't like having anyone unnecessarily close to his things._

_He needed to act fast. And in the end it was him who was a prince and even though it was a burden most of the time, the title came in handy sometimes, especially if it concerned that one person, Hephaestion._

_Hephaestion never got to know what happened exactly and why Philo had to pack his things the next week, saying he was coming back to Greece to his family. It was a slick lie that went with difficulty through his teeth and he didn't believe any of those words. He came to him the last night just before his journey even though Alexander kept on huffing and pleading him to go see the latest musical festival taking place in front of the palace. One icy look towards him stopped all the protests though and the prince went there alone in the end, arms folded, an angry line blemishing his perfect skin._

_Hephaestion was silent when he came up to a barrack Philo shared with some other servants, creeping slowly along a window. He looked inside. No one but the stable boy was there then, packing his things methodically, folding chiton after chiton and gathering some left over papers. He looked as if he was going to cry and Hephaestion thought for a moment that perhaps the story about his family wasn't a lie after all. Then, a female voice called out from the other side of the shed: "My child, hurry up! Your sisters have already put everything on the horses, we're waiting only for you, love!" Philo froze then for a moment and then frantically pushed everything left to two big baskets in front of him, mixing books with clothes and horsey equipment._

_"Mother, a moment here please, just a moment!"_

_Mother? So it was a lie after all? Hephaestion felt anger playing in his veins, deeply hurt. Why did he lie to him? He thought they were friends after all, the boy looked sadly on the ground for a moment. Friend don't lie to each other._

_He glanced back at Philo who was currently swabbing the sweat from his forehead with the back of the hand, clothes slipping down a bit. He'd never been the most athletic of the youths but in those few days he seemed to had lost a lot of weight, his chitions dangling on the near skeletal looking shoulders and hips. The strap fell loosely down his right arm fully suddenly and Hephaestion stared agape at the display before him._

_Where Alexander and he himself had more or less blooming muscles, Philo's chest was a mass of wobbly, a bit perky flesh of a pair of small but still perfectly recognizable breasts._

_He didn't know what to think about it. So Alexander was right in the end? That was why he disliked Philo (what was her name then if the one she gave them was false?) from the start? Those questions weren't the most important though as Hephaestion blinked with horror, not being able to look away from the girl's body._

_He had been attracted to a girl from the start. If he'd fall in love with one someday, it would mean being separated from Alexander, Ptolemy, everyone. It would mean having children. It would mean staying in Macedon if he wanted to father them. It would mean not seeing Alexander ever again if he went to conquer Persia._

_Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes but Hephaestion stood straight, not moving, fighting with them with his whole will. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't be weak for weakness was bad and made thinking harder. He was too proud to be thoughtless._

_He didn't hear the doors being opened and soon there was a foreign warm hand on his shoulder._

_"Hephaestion? What are you doing here?" A familiar sweet scented breath filled the air and it was then that Hephaestion couldn't help the tears any longer. He turned around quickly and pounded into the silhouette with angry fists, water flowing freely down his smooth with youthfulness cheeks._

_"You traitor, you traitorous bitch!" He kicked viciously at the too slender feet, pounding his hands into her stomach and chest. The girl hissed as one of his fists caught her off-guard, surprise changing into panic slowly filling her big eyes. She immobilized his hands quickly, pinning his arms along his sides, grunting while dodging his kicks between the legs._

_"Hephaestion, what in the name of Zeus are you doing?" She asked him sternly, fixing him with hurt eyes. There were a few scratches along her bronze with sun arms and a few small bruises were beginning to bloom on her knees from his kicks. "It's me, Philo!"_

_He felt tears drying slowly on his cheeks, anger vanishing as quickly as it filled him in the first place. After she held him in place for a moment, he felt just empty. Empty and fearfully cold. "You are a woman." He glanced at her chest and then into her eyes. His whisper was raw and Hephaestion thought he had never before felt as tired as then._

_She looked shocked, her lips opening slowly with surprise. She shook for a moment and then glanced around herself, noticing the window of the shred behind him. She moaned, hiding her face into her hands. Hephaestion didn't know what to do with his suddenly released arms or the trembling girl in front of him. Finally, he hugged her closely, his head touching briefly her collarbone._

_His own words echoed in his ears, his whole silhouette becoming just as strained as hers. "It doesn't change anything, you know, though. You're still my friend, man, woman or anything."_

_She choked at that, a small chuckle vibrating up her body and onto his after a moment. "My true name is Namesia."_

_He didn't know what possessed him the next moment but he crushed his lips viciously onto hers, not daring to let her say anything more. The kiss wasn't like any of those he had exchanged shyly with Ptolemy, their teeth clattering onto themselves, saliva mixing far too quickly. Her lips were plump, pillow-soft under his and Hephaestion tried not to asphyxiate with a sob he felt clawing at the back of his throat. It was nothing like he had felt before and everything mixed completely, blinding him for a moment. He felt himself embracing her forcefully, her fingers playing with his hair lightly the moment his back crashed into the wall of the shed. It was just them then and even Alexander himself wouldn't have been able to separate them with a thousand of soldiers._

_She left the next hour, waving sadly at him and wishing him everything best._

With years, her face loosened focus in his memories, colour of her eyes slowly slipped into oblivion as well as the name. He still remembered their first and yet last kiss though but it didn't matter in the end. He knew he didn't love her now, as well as he hadn't loved her then. It had been clear lust that now horrified him with its intensity and forceful nature. Alexander was everything to him now and it was the only true love that he ever felt for anyone. They completed each other and sweet Aphrodite be dammed if that was ever going to change. ( _Hephaestion, you sentimental fool, hadn't it changed already?_ )

He stared at the girl in front of him with quickly widening eyes, noticing with a delay how his breaths were beginning to get raspier and raspier. He felt himself trembling but it was just too much for him to take. Those bow legs, those muscled shoulders, those green eyes, that golden hair, those poppy coloured lips. He must have been dreaming, Hephaestion thought desperately, not being able to take his gaze off of her.

He would wake up beside Alexander the next moment.

He would kiss him

He would be loved.

"Philo?" Hephaestion whispered though his suddenly dry as sand lips before falling unconscious onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Nemesia Philadelphia** \- Greek feminine names; Philadelphia comes from φιλεω (fileo) - "to love" i αδελφος (adelfos) - "brother " ("brotherly love"); Namesia comes from "némesis" - "assaigning somebody this, which accrues them"; it evolved into the name of Nemesis, Greek goddess of justice and vengenance;
> 
>  **Philo** \- a Greek masculine name coming from Φιλων (Philon), which comes from φιλεω (fileo) – "to love" and means "loving".


	6. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To let myself go_
> 
> _To let myself flow_
> 
> _Is the only way of being_
> 
> _There's no use telling me_
> 
> _There's no use taking a step back_
> 
> _A step back for me..._
> 
> **To Let Myself Go** by Ane Brun

Hephaestion felt as if he was falling. He couldn't feel his limbs, open his eyes or even breath properly, panic at the realization slowly making its way through his system. The odd sensation of floating misted into coldness rapidly as if he had fallen into a pit of dark, suffocating water suddenly. His muscles tensed reflexively, trying in vain to bring his head over the surface to get some air which kept on escaping from his lungs, an odd cold circle forming quickly firmly round his chest. There were whispers above him (or were they only in his head?), flushes of cascading liquid, a vapid aftertaste of Greek perfumes on his tongue and, to his great horror, vines of some sort, clinging damply onto his feet and upper thighs, dragging him further underwater.

Hephaestion tried to scream but all that came out from his throat was a gurgling moan accompanied by thousands of pellucid bubbles. He somehow freed his arms from behind himself, grasping blindly onto something close, the nearest sweet flags grazing the back of his outstretched hand. They slipped away from between his numb fingers swiftly the moment he grabbed some of them though, leaving him with nothing but handfuls of yarn. His eyes opened momentarily, muddy water drying his conjunctivas in a second, blinding him with sand and flecks of moldy plants.

He tried to glance off somehow but nothing solid met his kicking viciously feet. He was beginning to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen, blood pounding against his temples, sending a splitting headache in the wake of convulsion shredding his muscles apart. His legs got stuck suddenly somehow, caught between sludge from a higher ledge and thick roots of a bunch of water lilies. He had always enjoyed their view there, a lazy thought entered his mind slowly, smudging the edges between escaping him reality and dreams. His chest burnt with all of the water he had already swallowed, each limb swelling somehow in his mind's eye. He blinked a couple of times, trying to make out even a detail of the world above him. An opaque surface greeted his unblinking orbs, greenish and yellowish with all of the waste his movements awoke from around him. His limb began to tremble with cold, fatigue and that hottest, whitest bucketful of fear suddenly spilled inside of Hephaestion. He wouldn't be able to fight forever, twisting, turning and gripping for the rays of sunlight flitting through the water.

He would die, die, die, just like that. Nothing spectacular, nothing heroic, nothing extraordinary. Just another mortal ending his life pitifully, unable to cherish the only gift ever given him for granted. No one would even notice his disappearance, water his murderer and grave.

Hephaestion was beginning to slowly relax in spite of the tension filling his body and the shock encircling his mind. It was so cold down here, goose skin appearing on his arms and thighs. He was freezing, asphyxiating and forgetting everything. How did he end up here anyway? He remembered... What did he remember? Did he have any memories whatsoever? Did any of the gods chose for him to end up like this without even knowing anything before it?

Darkness was falling all around him, vines touching his skin like caressing hands, soothing him into oblivion. Water was beginning to get a milky texture between his sluggishly moving fingers, his pupils widening in pleasure at the laziness of everything. He was free, this very, very moment from everything, troubles, hatred, wars, sex, spirits.

Love.

Suddenly, there was a movement just above him, something as colourful as the morning sky flickering inches from the surface. Hephaestion smiled despite the pain filling his insides, dread and grim contentment flowing down his veins. It was alright now and the last thing he'd see would be the most lively thing ever imaginable.

He wasn't prepared for the thing to finally pierce through the water. It reached him at excruciating speed and darkness pulsed blindly though Hephaestion the moment it snapped its fingers round his throat. It hurt like being dragged to Tartarus all fine but he didn't have any energy to fight left whatsoever. His body limply followed its captor, muscles on his shoulders twitching with effort, windpipe being swarmed with yet another mouthful of the foul liquid. His legs untangled themselves roughly from between the roots and the movement sent painful jolts through him, chest quivering, urging him to scream as loud as he could. Fingers pulled him all the way up, the weight of his whole body concentrating on his neck but Hephaestion swallowed the pain just the way he swallowed the water all those minutes ago, with no trace of fear left whatsoever. He would be dead soon, either way because of the lack of air.

May the Fates be good for those left after him, whoever that may be.

Air was ice cold onto his face despite the mad shining face of Febus the moment they broke the surface yet again. Hephaestion blinked, not being able to comprehend anything more or even recognise any of his immediate surroundings. They were somewhere but that didn't matter even for a moment, his eyelids closing tiredly, seeking darkness eternally. Hypnos was so alluring just now, dancing hand in hand with Thanatos, one coaxing him into the arms of the other. He felt himself being carried swiftly and then put down onto some kind of a hard surface, his head gently laid between someone's warm, calloused fingertips. He dimly realised being stripped down from his tattered clothing (whatever from his chition might had been left anyway), checking, touching, caressing. The sleep was coming slowly, water in his mouth so foul tasting, biting, freezing him inside. He was pushed over lightly then, lips opened and the liquid drained down his chin onto the stones digging into his back and arms. Something bigger pressed itself against his chest, listening intently and when finally satisfied, it moved up and soft lips met his suddenly, pumping clear and such fine air into his empty body. He coughed a couple of times, pressed against a well-muscled frame, water escaping his lungs and stomach. He felt sick, things spinning, dancing lightly inside his head.

Suddenly, the large frame morphed into a few breeze like beings, cooling Hephaestion once again, denying all the needed desperately warmth. They touched him without shame everywhere, poking curious fingers and it hurt, hurt just so badly. He wanted to yell at them to go away but a hand moved onto his lips, muffling any words he'd like to say with some hips straddling his own, moving up and down his frame. Panic rose in him swiftly at that, the figure on his thighs growing suddenly much heavier, the stench of old wine mixed with urine filling the air all around him. Hephaestion bitted at the fingers, crying out as strong hands seized and put his arms behind him. A few pairs of lips appeared out nowhere, lavishing his skin with rough, unwanted kisses and someone forced his mouth open, kissing them passionately, his tongue being filled with the taste of decay.

Hephaestion felt his eyes water, trying desperately to get away, to stop even just the slightest movement done around him, his eyes closed because of the fear for what he knew would be just there. He gagged at spit filling his mouth. Generals, one by one, coming up to him, servants in rows watching the great show, no one, no one wanting to help him. He screamed as something dig painfully into the small of his back and the next second he found himself on his stomach, hips squeezed tightly by prying slowly fingers. He jerked himself, withering on the ground, forcing his eyes open.

Hephaestion opened his eyes the next moment and through the feverish fog saw the most cerulean shade of blue ever imaginable, staring panicky at him, widened with worry and fear. His lips felt dry, throat hoarse from screaming and Hephaestion wondered just how long had he been dreaming.

He wasn't in the water any more. There weren't any plants clinging to him. He was wet with perspiration instead of the yellowish liquid, his heart beating painfully and irregularly in his chest. There were no generals, the whole room empty but for them. It was only them, no one else.

He felt tears leaking down the corners of his eyes onto Alexander's muscled arm pillowing his head and a true, deep sob finally wrecked his body. Hephaestion shut his eyelids, digging the heels of his palms onto them, denying anything happening, trying to turn away. Alexander held him tightly to himself though, lowering his head onto his and rocking gently from side to side, arms crisscrossing on top of Hephaestion's.

He didn't say anything, planting a few kisses instead onto his forehead and damp with tears skin.


	7. Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is the last time I'll abandon you_
> 
> _And this is_
> 
> _The last time I'll forget you_
> 
> _I wish I could_
> 
> **Stockholm Syndrome** by Muse

"How long have I been sleeping?" Hephaestion's voice was shaky as his hands trembled onto Alexander's torso, touching fearfully the well defined muscles. Perhaps he was just another phantom, something sent to haunt him more thoroughly this one night. Maybe he'd be gone the moment he breaths too deeply or reaches the body too surely. He closed his eyes at the solidness of the flesh and heat meeting his hand soon though, relaxing slightly. He was so weak, a stupid fool from the very first day he had seen the godforsaken world. Those dreams never ended, never played out differently. It was always him, always the crowd and then the generals.

His throat felt thick with curses he screamed during the nightmares that would never change the plot of them, well planned from the beginning by Hypnos. Oh, how he'd like to get some poppy juice one day and sleep all night with his eyes carefully closed, even just one time since coming here. The juice made slaves of people though frighteningly quickly and Hephaestion was far too scared to risk everything so soon. He rubbed his face pitifully, muffling lightly the sob his body was trembling with. Now Alexander saw his greatest weakness and would be even further repulsed by the whole wreck he turned himself into over those few weeks after the great conquest. Bagoas was always fine, nothing hurt him and even though nobody liked him, they gathered their courage to accept his presence among them.

Hephaestion felt like the most horrible and pitiful creature on the whole unholy earth, not understanding gods any longer. What had he done to them to deserve anything like this, to be haunted daily and not even able to fight back, trapped in his own head and those marble walls of the palace? He was horrid, revolting.

Alexander couldn't have loved anyone like him in his whole life, tears streaming once again down his sallow face.

"The water…"

But how did the water end up in the dream as well? He still felt the touch of the vines upon his legs, the mud, the foul taste of the liquid and dead plants onto his tongue. It was so vivid Hephaestion was at the verge of running away from the palace as soon as possible, just to get away from all of the rivers, ponds or pools.

The thought of dying just then terrified him.

" Hephaestion," Alexander whispered breathlessly then, shaking his head with effort, emotions playing vividly on his face, pain clashing viciously with brokenness and animalistic fear. Hephaestion tensed upon hearing his name being spoken and glanced briefly, with fatigue, above himself, trying to make out the outline of the other man's face in the darkness. It seemed the dawn was near but nothing resembled the place he had found himself lastly in. He wasn't in the halls any longer, Hephaestion noticed suddenly.

He had been laid down onto king's enormous bed, the bed he once knew the smell and every corner of by heart. The curtains on the windows had been drawn together snugly, a few stray rays of moonlight getting caught up onto the silkiness of furniture, walls or even the fleshy carpets. Light covers had been draped across his chest, his flesh naked and glistening in the light of a lonely torch on the nearest table.

Startled, he blinked at Alexander, not understanding.

The man shuddered violently upon looking him in the eye and then lunged forward suddenly, clutching his chest with desperation Hephaestion had never seen him express before. His breath hitched as the great king sobbed, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, hot puffs of breath making him shiver. "Oh Hephaestion, Phae, I cannot lose you, everything but you. Everyone but you…"

Their bodies melted into that well-known shape once again, limbs fitting perfectly each left gap, cold place and Hephaestion felt deep inside that it was the end of everything. He wanted to forget about him, not to need him any longer, be able to kiss hundreds of slaves and courtesans with ease onto their lips, to roll in –between the sheets with a joyful, grim laugh poisoning everyone around him.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't and in that one moment, as Alexander rocked onto him, hiccuping slightly, he couldn't help but open his arms for him, closing his eyes in defeat.

Perhaps he wasn't fit to be a soldier after all, just a disgrace to the family line and Macedonian honor. He was so weak, a wrecked corpse among still living people.

"Why am I here, Alexander? I thought you didn't want me around any longer." He sighed, clenching his fists on top of the quivering back of the king, hurt echoing against his bitter tone. He glanced around the room, taking in all of the things that had changed since he had been there for the last time. For instance, he couldn't see that small bed made specially for Bagoas any longer (not as if it was needed for anything these days, Hephaestion cursed under his breath, tensing slightly, what with the bed he himself was lying in now). A few lamps or pieces of crockery had been destroyed and at least a couple of pillows were scattered all across the floor, as if someone had casted them away in a hurry. Sun was rising bit by bit now, its rays of light slowly leaking though the material from the windows. He swallowed the bitter saliva filling his mouth, grimacing with pain filling him with the next words he uttered: "You've got thousands of servants to keep you company if you wanted some. Bagoas would be more than happy to oblige such a request, I imagine."

Alexander's breath stopped the moment his words hit him but Hephaestion could never care less for his reasoning than now. His lip quivered while he untangled himself from between his once lover arms, sneering at him with disgust weakly hidden behind his darkening eyes. His voice was hoarse with emotions."Who exactly am I to you now, my lord? Just another whore you could pick yourself anytime you wanted to? Already got down to the business, I see."

He motioned at his glowing in the sunlight skin, smirking. Oh, it hurt so much. It hurt so deliciously to say such things to him now, not to hide any longer behind any mask, fake any smiles. Hephaestion shied from him, dragging the covers with himself, not blinking.

Alexander stared at him with widened eyes, tears drying up on his face into bitter-sweet trails. He tried to grab his shoulder but Hephaestion jumped away almost instantly. He landed at the verge of the bed unfortunately and tried for a moment to regain his balance desperately. It was no use though, even with the lightning speed the king tried to reach him across the bed and soon Hephaestion came tumbling down onto the marble floor on the other side, caught-up in-between the sheets and his own limbs.

He screamed the moment Alexander tried to pick him up and lay down onto the bed once again.

"Don't you dare to touch me ever again, you foul swine. Don't you even try!" Hephaestion kicked him viciously across his calf, sending Alexander spluttering curses, shock written all over his face. "You have no right to me now, you loathsome drunkard! Don't you dare, don't you even dare…"

Alexander had new tears in his eyes, clear, painful tears but all Hephaestion could see was the water filling his own eyes bitterly once again and people gathering round him in a close circle, saying things he couldn't understand.

"Sir, I told you it wasn't a good idea to keep him so close after the accident." Kratoros?

"It must've been one of the servants, he was found by one after all!" Cleitos, was it him really?

Darkness began to fill Hephaestion's mind slowly, lulling him back into the realm of dreams. He could feel strong arms draping themselves around him once again and didn't fight them this time.

"Please, Alexander, let him rest, maybe in the morning it'll be better." Ptolemy's voice was like music onto his ears as his head lolled helplessly onto some torso.

He was being carried to somewhere else but Hephaestion didn't care even for a moment where he would end up later next time. It was too peculiar already to get things even less normal than usually.

Alexander's scent filled his nostrils as his face pressed itself deeper into the folds of his clothing.


	8. Disbelief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _(...)_  
>  it's way too good for me with you  
> with you, my sweet  
> it's way too good for us this way
> 
> once again everything is reversed  
> from this moment on  
> I'm counting to three - I'm casting a charm
> 
> keep me in mind, my sweet  
> remember me  
> keep me in mind, my sweet  
> remember me  
> keep me in mind, my sweet  
> remember me...
> 
>  **You Know Too Much** by Justyna Steczkowska (lyrics by Grzegorz Ciechowski),  
>  translation done by me (in Polish, the song's called: "Za dużo wiesz")

Some hands felt his temples, drawing flowery lines with the fingertips onto his skin even though the rest of the body felt boiling hot against his, muscles tensing upon each breath or strained, uttered blindly word.

"Hephaestion, I've waited for so long," somebody breathed, gracing his chest with both of their hands, planting butterfly kisses onto his feverish arms and cheeks. "I've waited so patiently for you, my general. You outdid him so nicely, I'm so proud of you."

He didn't fully know what was happening, where he was or even who was talking to him. The smell filling the room wasn't the one of Alexander, too light and way too Western. Hephaestion tried opening his eyes, trying to remember anything.

A cloth weighty with water was pressed onto his eyelids quickly, his head spinning with the coolness of it. It was humid, too humid in this place to breathe properly and panic began to settle in the pit of his stomach. His throat felt oddly thick and strained, as if he had been screaming for a long time. His thoughts were scattered, escaping the grasp each time he tried hanging onto them.

Was it a dream once again?

Was he going crazy?

He tried moving his arms but they felt just as the rest of his body, as if weighing at least a tone. Was he running a fever? That would explain the water and the pain echoing dully in the back of his head. Suddenly a goblet filled with some liquid was pressed against his lips and he drank gratefully, sinking into the pillows farther as he finished it all.

He felt dizziness encircling h  
im and soon his eyelids dropped shut, ears deaf at the whole shuffling and whispering going around him.

 

"Alexander, you must calm yourself this instant!" Cleitus bellowed, looking exasperatedly at a walking wreck the king presented himself. His hair was messy, robes kneaded and a look of utter despair was written all over his face. He was walking to and fro round the chamber of the officers, keeping his head in-between his hands. He hadn't drunk or eaten anything for the past few hours, just kept on thinking and not saying a word to anyone.

It was starting to drive Cleitus mad. Ever since a screaming servant interrupted their meeting, looking desperately for Alexander, it was all coming tumbling down.

 

_They were discussing the newest plan concerning the final capture of Darius and routing his army altogether, a quick meeting the king suddenly decided was really needed. The generals gathered reluctantly in the vast room in the northern wing, swaying slightly because of the alcohol circling in their blood from the earlier party they had thrown themselves. Even though many desired the sleep the most or even the touch of an oiled hand onto their tights, Alexander's voice was hard and kept them wide awake, playing on their ambition. So they thought they were safe now? So they thought everything had been conquered already? Darius was as sly as it could get and it had been already months since the last time they clashed in a battle. Even though Egypt was already theirs and so many victories had graced Alexander, it was still too little, too soon to stay relaxed for too long. Babylon was a great city but so much more awaited them in the farther East, in the mountains and soon, they'd reach the end of the world and be proclaimed masters of it, each general and officer was sure of it. They drank wine, looking through various maps, with Alexander's voice echoing against the walls excitedly, full of certainty and ambition._

_All of it could be theirs, they just needed to keep on going forward._

_"My lord! In the name of Zeus, my lord!" A feminine shout stormed harshly in-between their laughs and glorious exclamations. The girl was young, her wheat-yellow hair glowing under many lit-up lanterns, her dress soaked through at the front, filthy with mud and sand. She was trying to catch her breath as everybody in the room grew silent, looking wide-eyed at the wild look of urgency in her eyes._

_Slowly, Alexander came forward, putting away a couple of papyruses onto the nearest table. The crowd backed away, creating a narrow passage for him to go through as he stared surprised at the servant, not recognizing her. Was she new to the palace? He hadn't seen such a white shade of skin in ages, far from Greece and its milder sun. Her accent wasn't an Eastern one for sure as well. His walk came to a halt soon and he tilted his head, gazing at her bowed one, curious._

_"What is the matter, girl? What happened to you?"_

_Enlarged pupils stood out sharply and frightfully clear in the greenness of her eyes and Alexander wondered for a moment if he really hadn't met her before. There was something in that gaze that made his throat clench painfully but such a feeling was good for schoolboys, not kings and rulers. He banished the thought just as quickly as it came to his head._

_The girl's chin suddenly trembled and she looked pleadingly at the crowd, swallowing thickly. Tears gathered in her eyes, panic slowly blooming in them. Alexander didn't know why, but uneasiness began to feel his insides upon looking at her swelling with fright orbs. He furrowed his brows expectantly, urging her with a move of his chin to speak up._

_She wiped her eyes angrily, trying to calm down._

_"There's a body in one of the ponds in the grand garden, sir." Her voice waved quietly, silence in the room painful the moment her breath shuddered with emotions swirling inside her tall frame. Alexander looked sharply at her, disbelief evident in his eyes. A furious storm of whispering broke out behind them the next second, each face empty and full of shock. Nobody dared to move an inch from the place they felt their feet glued to the marble floor._

_"How come?" The king looked around desperately, trying to read anything from the faces of his generals, trying to understand. Nothing like that had happened to them since coming to Persia. Sure, a few stupid quarrels, a couple of drunken brawls he himself had participated in and so on. Nothing more serious. In his heart of hearts, Alexander knew the answer though – the palace had already secrets he would never fully learn of. The taste of that knowledge was bitter onto his tongue and yet he wasn't surprised in the least._

_"I think somebody drowned that general, my lord." The girl hiccupped slightly, cowering herself with her arms. She lowered her gaze when Alexander gasped audibly, taking a step away from her. He frantically searched her face for any sign of a lie but it was just a waste of time, her lips pressed tight and a sob making its way up her throat._

_People started looking around, each man gesturing wildly to another, searching for that one missing face. Anguish was heavy in the air, making it difficult to breathe for Alexander. They were like family, each bound by honor and ambition to serve each other under his command, equals among people of a different culture and thinking. They made the greatest decisions together, discussed them thoroughly and even though he would lose his temper with the lot at times, they mattered, they did matter as only a family could._

_Suddenly everything grew silent and Ptolemy's annoyed, slurred whisper echoed against the walls of the room before he could catch himself in time. "For the tenth time, has anyone of you, goddamn bastards, seen Hephaestion after the wretched party?"_

_Alexander froze upon hearing him. He turned around slowly, forgetting altogether about the girl and others in the room. He caught Ptolemy's widened with realization eyes and began slowly shaking his head._

_No, it wasn't true. It just couldn't be._

_He couldn't utter a word and everything seemed to have frozen in time for a moment. He clenched his greasy with heat hair and a guttural scream tore its way from his chest soon though, sending everyone covering in fear. He didn't look back, didn't wait for anyone as he sprinted from the chambers, knocking away two terrified guards._

_Cleitus and Ptolemy called after him but Alexander was already too far away to hear them, running blindly towards the southern wing._

It couldn't be true.

 

_Even though Ptolemy heard it all with his own ears, he sure wasn't ready to face the view after he and Cleitus finally came whizzing to the garden. It was a full moon that night, everything sprinkled with silvery lines and violet shadows. Each tree and bush looked oddly out of place in such conditions, sending chills down his spine. Ptolemy felt his head swim with all of the alcohol he had drunk that very night, each breath more labored and strained after the run than normally. Cleitus wasn't any better though for he had drunk at least twice the amount he himself had and had troubles keeping his head up high._

_Alexander's sob wasn't loud. He had a fist pressed to his mouth, rocking to and fro while sitting on the heels of his feet at the verge of the farthest pool, his back facing both of them. Ptolemy meant to come nearer but Cleitus' arm seized his before he could even take a step forward._

_Hephaestion was lying on his back on the stony path in front of Alexander, hair splayed out round his face like rays of sunlight. He was naked, as far as Ptolemy could tell, and his legs and upper tights had been soiled with mud and dead vines of some sort. His skin was sickly blue and Alexander was already rubbing his arms frantically, whispering brokenly something Ptolemy couldn't quite catch._

_"Who pulled him out?" Cleitus whisper was hoarse but audible._

_Alexander stiffened but didn't turn around, not breaking the motion even for a moment. "He was already on the path when I got here."_

_A silence filled with the man's short pained breaths and a slick sound of skin on skin fell around them, neither of them able to break it. Alexander brought Hephaestion closely to himself the next moment, swallowing the tears falling down his cheeks thickly. He kissed his eyes and hair, rocking from side to side. He brought his face to the man's chest next, indenting to kiss it as well, gasping with shock the moment he brought his ear onto it though._

_Cleitus and Ptolemy looked at each other with confusion clearly written all over their faces._

_"What is it, Alexander?" The latter asked slowly, trying to make out the outline of Hephaestion's head in his arms better._

_The man turned around, disbelief mixed with the most heart-breaking hope gleaming on his face._

_"He's alive, Ptolemy. For the love of Gods, his heart is still beating."_

_Alexander didn't let any of them, even after the rest of the generals finally joined them, to touch Hephaestion. He carried him himself all the way to his private chambers, whispering things no one could hear. Hephaestion's eyelids fluttered a few times and he moaned some more when some generals came too close, trying to talk to Alexander. He would snarl at them then, hugging Hephaestion even closer to himself and casting the men away with a move of his head. He seemed to not care for a moment for his robes getting soaked wet, enfolding the man in the upper layer carefully or the buzzling whispering behind his back. Those things didn't matter now. None of them did, as long as he had Hephaestion safely in his arms._

_The moment he finally got rid of everyone and came into his chambers with Hephaestion still unconscious in his arms, Alexander felt at lost finally. He had told Cleitus to get a medic as soon as possible and, as he looked around, was also grateful for the fact Bagoas went already to sleep with the rest of the servants. He was still angry at the stupid boy but now, with Hephaestion endangered, he needed every extra help. Despicable or not, Bagoas was quite useful when it came to preparing things in a veritable royal way._

_He wouldn't apologize for he believed in his words fully but wouldn't shy Bagoas away either. No way would he soon again have his bed in here again, as long as Hephaestion was here with him (and Alexander was sure now that he would never let him out of his sight again)._

_Suddenly Hephaestion started tossing in his arms, moaning, bringing him out of his thought immediately._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Hope you're still following this story, hahhaha. This time, a quick play around with points of view is in store for you all. Hope this chapter makes clear at least a couple of things (for the time being).


	9. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _At night it's eating up your head,_
> 
> _Backed against the wall_
> 
> _Got you in a tight place_
> 
> _Though you're not alone at all_
> 
> _Been fighting, trying to place a name on what it's called_
> 
> _Make you feel like a losing streak cuz you know_
> 
> _But you're not involved ___
> 
> _**Say Aha** by Santogold_

Bagoas felt lost. He looked with half-lidded eyes at the chaos emerging itself before him, doctors screaming annoyed at some covering In fear pages, small groups of generals whispering to each other, facing him with their backs and yet casting full of resentment glances from time to time. Bagoas knew he had missed something but he was far too busy to worry about such things as the gossiping of the soldier's now. Something was up, he knew that.

It was hot in the kitchens. Too hot for his accustomed only to the rooms' temperatures skin but Bagoas knew he would manage. He could have manage by Darius and he would manage by Alexander. The argument left him covering in fear, running till he was out of breath and sinking boneless down one of the kitchens' door onto the floor. One or two words being too many but he wasn't even surprised anymore. It was only fitting, treating him as a dirt everybody saw him here as. A whore, a revolting, malicious whore. He didn't ask for being made an eunuch but nobody seemed to notice that it had been inflicted upon him via ambushing his land and enslaving the rest of his family. Sure, he enjoyed pleasuring kings as a young male would enjoy but he was nothing more because of that, just a pair of soft lips, skillful hands and graceful moves of hips. He wasn't even a human anymore, all the less a prince.

Bagoas was a toy but he learned to accept his fate with less than few tears shed daily. Alexander had been good to him so far. They hadn't had real intercourse yet as he had had with Darius, all forced, bound to the bed and taken with screams of pain. They were rather cuddling, kissing and pleasuring each other vocally or he himself Alexander orally more than anything. Showing each other things from their respective cultures with curiosity and unmasked wonder. For the first time since he had been enslaved and sold to the Persian emperor, Bagoas began longing to be touched more intimately than just mere kisses. He wanted more, Something felt right about being there with Alexander, with looking at all the scrolls, reading, learning his language to know his needs immediately, with providing companionship whenever he needed that. He wanted to be at his side night and day, knowing all too well that whatever would have come his way, would never resemble the dream. It was all in his head, the longing Alexander would feel without him near, the gratefulness for his efforts, something better and ever-lasting than just mere matter of habit.

Sometimes Bagoas liked to think he could make Alexander happy, make him forget about his troubles forever. After the good nights night came the ordinary days though and Alexander yearned every time he woke up for someone whom Bagoas could never replace and the knowledge hurt like nothing he could recall. The king hovered his hands over his stomach with his eyes closed the moment he would realise where he was and at times, a tear would roll down one of his cheeks. Bagoas knew better than to say anything such seldom moments, even though it gnawed at him that the king should be happy with him. It was his decision after all to spend his time in his chambers with him, not throwing him out and bringing someone else instead.

One day, he asked Alexander what was wrong but he just smiled close-lipped, shrugging off the covers and dressing himself quickly without a word. The other time he did that, Alexander just stared numbly at the farthest wall, seeming not to notice Bagoas at all.

It was only acceptable, it seemed, and after the first few minutes of stunned silence, Bagoas tried not to appear saddened by the way his king observed that closest to him general after their nights, during the meals, yet cupping one of his knees quite noticeably. It felt wrong but Bagoas was a good actor brought up on scandals, gossips and so, he turned a blind eye to Amyntoros' empty gaze landing at him from time to time during various parties Alexander had thrown at the palace since subduing Babylon so far. They played with each other like a lion cub with a blade of grass, bending each other, fascinating and yet hurting so quickly and yet unnoticeably that Bagoas' head just kept on turning round in wonder.

At the beginning, the boy thought that Amyntoros could blame him all day long but everybody knew it was his fault when it came to the way things looked at the moment. He was jealous and instead of acting on the impulse and sending everything to hell, he was just so stubborn. He wouldn't apologize, wouldn't come to Alexander on his own. Well, maybe Bagoas wasn't all that objective himself in the matter but the situation started to frustrate him by far. He couldn't be the one to warm the bed of the king and be welcome there at the same time like he thought he would be and secondly, everyone was against him at the palace already.

It was highly unfair but there was little he could do about that. With time, as emotions started to settle down and neatly not bother him as strongly as before, Bagoas noticed the atmosphere round Amyntoros and every step he would take. It was quite surprising to think of him now less like of an ideal he could never imitate but a fool caught up in the same web as himself. He was being resented by the general's lot nearly the same way he was or maybe even stronger. It didn't take a genius to observe such trivial things, people not looking in the eye while talking to that hetaire, silence befalling the whole room the moment he came, scattershot jokes or remarks said in whisper that made the man's face either pomegranate red or white as a sheet. Well, maybe he wasn't a fool after all, the boy heard himself a couple of nice stinging ripostes from him that would immediately clean out his path whenever Hephaestion needed that. Other times he just kept silent, avoiding crowds the moment he impressed the situation on himself and decided not to get himself killed because of the bravado some would love him to show the whole army, in front of the king especially.

Bagoas knew that even though everybody saw him as a whore, well. He did what a whore usually did or, more accurately, a servant or a maid would. It was still debilitating to hear such words spoken to someone of his status but he wasn't all the time in the spotlight as Amyntoros was. To many he wasn't a general anymore but a lover-boy of the king that would lick the floor under his feet if he was told to do so. A few fist fights had already erupted, each of them shushed down quickly as not to attract Alexander's attention. Bagoas knew that Hephaestion had gained some new scars and bruises in them but not even a word of complaint had slipped past his lips, head high in the air and quick steps down every corridor. He didn't regard the boy highly, there was no doubt about that, especially with the hurt and hatred flashing fleetingly in his eyes when Alexander's head was turned and everybody grew tired of quietly picking on the general not too sophisticatedly. And Bagoas gave as good as he got, flashing coquettish smiles and stroking the king's thighs with his fingers playfully. The first time he did just that Amyntoros looked ready to kill him, his lips opening slightly in disbelief and eyes flashing with fury. The next second though Alexander kissed absent-mindedly the top of Bagoas head and the general nearly crumbled to the floor, shock twisting his sun-kissed features before melting into a mask of indifference.

A good actor was he indeed, Bagoas was impressed with the speed his emotions melted into pure coldness he hadn't understood then. He hadn't seen him interacting with Alexander that evening much after the small exhibition which slightly surprised the king who hoped then to have Hephaestion stay with him in his chambers to talk about various things. The meeting did happen after all but ended up with a row on the Iliad and Amyntoros looked a bit happier the next day, in contrary to Alexander who seemed to be sulking slightly whatever was the reason.

People at the palace were all brave being a part of the crowd but when faced with Amyntoros one to one, no remarks were ever made, especially when the king was present. Jokes be jokes as well as pranks but if Alexander learnt of the way his love was being treated among others, hell was sure to break lose. Bagoas was sure of that, given the lesson about various Athenians and mentioning problems with them, irrespective of the fact whether the one he himself was talking about was the right one or not. Alexander was possessive, he desired lands and cultures like no one Bagoas had ever met. He wanted knowledge, courage needed to gain it and time spent on productive thinking not sulking or bad humour. Amyntoros was of the same type it seemed and even though they would fall out over details these days, he did attend every meeting, worked hard, maybe even harder than before if it was even possible and didn't say much about his days whenever Alexander tried to make small-talk with him in private. The latter had not much free time but was willing to spend a big part of it with Hephaestion of all people. It was only understandable and even though jealousy kept on eating his insides, Bagoas would step out of the way whenever he saw that being needed.

Amyntoros had never shown him forthright hatred nor had ever called him a whore publicly and Bagoas acted the same way, only from time to time letting himself anger the other with a too wide smile or bustling fingers. In the beginning it was quite amusing to observe the look of pure fury shown surreptitiously by the soldier but as the time flew, reactions grew bitterer and Bagoas didn't find himself enjoying that little torture he could inflict on someone finally, any longer. For some time now, Hephaestion looked just tired. Tired of everything and with days, Bagoas started to feel companionship for him, something he had never endured being felt for him. Soldiers viewed him as a dirty creature and servants as a horrendously rich brat that wasn't grateful enough for his fate. Now with Amyntoros, it looked a bit different, the situation being not so different at all. He dropped the act one day and saw true surprise and suspicion in those blue eyes when he greeted him with a normal smile instead of a sneer.

Well, queer people like them got to stay close to each other even if they'd rather have the other killed already, don't they?

 

"Slut, the king calls for you. Bring your lazy ass over there in a minute!" A soldier called from behind yet another corridor Bagoas just meant to cross. He trembled slightly at the urgency in his voice but didn't say anything, just nodding his head obediently. The man flashed his yellowish teeth and run somewhere yet again, calling for various servants to go to the king's chambers. It was an emergency and everybody was supposed to go there as soon as possible, with everything they usually needed daily.

Bagoas shrugged, not even thinking for a minute about the situation. Emergency. Either the king was having nightmares, a ceremonial was supposed to be conducted or the army was going on further in the East. Emergencies were nothing new at this palace, especially after Darius' reign. With Alexander, they were rather more seldom, not even aggressive brawls but rather drunken parties being the biggest problems, as well all the religious celebrations and all that.

Well, maybe the stars just said something promising and a big ceremony was in order?

Bagoas collected his scented oils from the kitchen, moving cautiously along hot pots, various beds and a couple of tables for the kitchen servants. Rooms here were vast but a billion of things was scattered beside the walls and in the centre. Yes, just a big mess as always.

Lavender, rose, sandalwood, bitter orange, something else maybe as well.

There, Bagoas had everything he usually needed in situations like that and he quickly began making his way onto higher floors, his heart beating way quicker than he hoped it would.

As mad as it might have seemed in his head, Bagoas just hoped that whatever had missed him, had had nothing to do with the current situation. Or Hephaestion Amyntoros, as long as he had any say in all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less action now, more psychology. Hope it's plausible and realistically written. Give me a piece of your mind!


	10. Consideration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Alexander, you must calm yourself this instant!" Cleitus bellowed, looking exasperatedly at a walking wreck the king presented himself. His hair was messy, robes kneaded and a look of utter despair was written all over his face. He was walking to and fro round the chamber of the officers, keeping his head in-between his hands. He hadn't drunk or eaten anything for the past few hours, just kept on thinking and not saying a word to anyone._
> 
>  
> 
> _It was starting to drive Cleitus mad. Ever since a screaming servant interrupted their meeting, looking desperately for Alexander, it was all coming tumbling down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Don't speak, you're beautiful_  
>  Don't say a word at all  
> Look at me  
> I hear your voice in my head like a song  
> And I don't wanna sleep  
> Are you the one for all the time?  
> Skin next to mine  
> Am I lost in a dream?  
> Do you really wanna let it slip away?
> 
>  
> 
>  **Shhh (I Wanna Hear Love Speak)** by Tarkan

Alexander didn't say a thing when Cleitus came up to him and shook him roughly by the shoulders. For a moment he just stared at him from under his brows and after a second, snatched himself from the other's grasp. He spun round, looking at various faces of his generals. Some were bearded, other clear-shaven and there was also a set with already kohl-rimmed eyelids. Their owners kept on fidgeting, a few back rows of the crowd whispering and exchanging amused glances, Hephaestion's name like a cheap obscenity on their tongues.

They thought themselves invisible, didn't they? Alexander was breathing heavily through his nose, looking disgusted while regarding the small group before him, each pair of eyes glued to his lips.

It was enough.

"If I don't have the assassin hanged by the half of Artemis' lover's face, Babylon will burn and echo with the screaming of women and children." Even the mob in the farthest rows stopped chuckling the moment they heard his cold tone and felt the rage glowing in his eyes. He looked utterly mad, with his wild wheat hair, furious face and twitching with effort muscles. It felt as if they were in Greece instead of Persia once again and Thebes were about to be burnt down to the ground.

Alexander didn't care one bit about what they thought that one moment. He shivered slightly upon some cold breeze coming through a few still open windows, his gaze escaping to his chambers' door fleetingly. He lowered his head for a moment before looking at the crowd for the last time, his lips twisting into a deranged half-smile.

"Firstly though, I want to torture him myself." Men blinked, not knowing what to say. Cleitus' mouth hanged slightly open but Alexander slipped into his own world already, rolling his eyes tiredly. "Tell that your soldiers. Find him and keep him alive for me. That is all. You can go now."

Men started marching from the room, looking at each other in silence and quiet wonder. Had the king already gone ultimately insane? Maybe the roles in that famous relationship weren't really casted the way they had thought before? Suddenly a moan erupted from within the tightly closed doors and no one had to guess twice to identify the emotions playing subconsciously in the eyes of the king. From fear to worry, from worry to anger, they all were blooming for a moment just to die the next second into the pool of coldness and indifference forming a tightly-laced mask on his face. He didn't rush into his rooms now the way he would previously back in Macedon or even a few hours earlier. Now he just stood proudly with his back set into a straight line, biding good-byes and good-nights while observing intently every gesture and listening to each tone of the crowd's voices.

Alexander knew now that he had been a fool. A fool who just begged to be fooled time and time again because he lost his skill in fooling others the way he had been meant to fool. All of this had been his own fault and yet there was that distant tapping in his head that kept on saying that he could not have had any idea. He wanted honesty and saw it among treachery, not being able to separate the two well enough. Honesty shouldn't involve his poor acting and bragging about people closest to him though but rather making business and all those worms beneath his feet. That maggot Cassander rotting away in Pella and doing anything his father whispered into his ear. Cleitus smiling predatorily, drinking to Phillips' name while eying him expectantly. Servants blinking rapidly while serving him various drinks, laughter echoing against empty walls, Parmenion's empty gaze going to and fro between him and his own son, snickers concerning Persians and his mission as the new Achilles.

Alexander felt the world was growing smaller and darker instead of gathering all the needed sunshine and beauty the East had been promising his ancestors and him. Neither was it the deep hole yet, full of snakes ready to inject him with their poisonous fangs and take his last breath as his father promised him once to endure himself, nor was it a playground filled with friendly souls with the same as his own goals anymore. Olympias wanted the best for him but the path towards the top grew more silent and narrower with each step he recklessly took, hungry for the splendor, fame and new lands.

Philotas blinked lazily, glancing over his shoulder at him as Cleitus, Cratoros and others made their way, his head coming onto his father's shoulder. He began whispering loudly enough for Alexander to hear a buzzing sound of his tongue coming onto gums and teeth but too quietly to make out the words. His eyes shone brightly but Parmenion opened his own widely and pushed him away, cursing. Another rare family quarrel? Alexander felt his muscles twitching thoughtlessly and just motioned for them to leave him already.

The room was silent, wind blowing and bending palm trees outside the walls, howling in the creaks and among solitary stones. Alexander came closer to the balcony in front of him, glancing at the silverily leaden sky with a furrowed brow. He sighed, crossing his arms and looked at the city slowly waking itself beneath the palace, lights dying slowly and people emerging from their brownish huts or multi-storey houses drowsily, straightening their bundles or finishing their small meals. If not for the faces and clothing, Greeks looked nearly exactly the same. Children digging in the sand, mothers starting to yarn or peel some fruit for a meal. Alexander didn't understand how somebody could hate all of this just because Aristotle said so. That culture was far older and maybe even greater than theirs could ever hope to be. Nobody wanted to see that, taste the facts showing themselves before his very eyes. The beauty of the vast Hanging Gardens, their cuisine, architecture, mathematics, the army for Zeus' sake! Was he really as alone in his need to know, to have, to merge the known world as he'd began seeing just recently? So many opportunities, so many chances and such a fortune awaiting only the bold! Why no else wanted to get to the core, to see and conquer everything ever known by them, mere Macedonians brought up on Greek tales and dreams. They could make all of this happen, could do just as they pleased, only if they did want any of that of course. Was he the last brave one standing, already at the beginning of this all?

Well, not exactly. He's never been truly alone in his dream, no matter how enchantingly martyr that sounded. Alexander closed his eyes, bringing his fists onto the granite banister. Hephaestion. Hephaestion, Hephaestion and no one else but Hephaestion all the way. He felt faint, with cold sweat gathering on his forehead and back whenever he thought about yesterday. An assassination? A failed attempt at murder? A thread? What all of this could really mean, he had no idea. He, they, could not trust anyone anymore. No one was a friend anymore and if the situation would re-enact one day, Alexander didn't honestly know what he would do.

He didn't want to think what would have happened if the servant hadn't found him immediately, his robes swishing behind him as he moved inside once again, fists clenched and a spasm of pain going up his body. He swallowed thickly, eyeing the door nervously. He was scared, one of those rare times, and Hephaestion himself wasn't making the matters easier. He would slip into unconsciousness constantly, then awake for a few minutes, screaming obscenities at him and either trying to wrestle out of the gentle grip Alexander had on him or just smacking him away as far as possible. Even though Hephaestion could hardly catch his breath while moving his head and moving fast was out of question, he was persistent and wouldn't stop even though each movement sent agony ripping his muscles and veins apart. He would choke on his spit, not being able to breathe but Alexander would sooner find and tame a dragon than touch him as long as he had any say in that.

_At the beginning, the latter had had no idea what was going on. Tears flew down his cheeks the moment the man opened his blurry eyes and gratefulness came down heavily on the king, making it hard for him not to run and make the biggest sacrifice for Thanatos he could think of. After a moment came a sour observation though, as he embraced Hephaestion and nearly cried his eyes out on his shoulder. The way the body underneath him tensed at the touch, the foreign bitter tone, the accusation. What was wrong? He let him untangle himself from between his arms, the warmth from the covers and his chest vibrating onto his own flesh. Hephaestion whispered, his voice cracking at syllables and all Alexander could do, was to stare at him, not understanding. He hadn't wanted him around any loner? He had servants to keep him company? The movement of Hephaestion's hand across his torso caught his attention and momentarily, he didn't know what felt wrong all of the sudden. After a second though, it dawned at him with full strength. Where exactly was one of the medallion they'd given each other as children? Alexander's eyes widened, tears slowly drying up. Maybe because of its loss in the water the other was acting so crankily? They could always have some others done, Alexander's fingertips graze the frame of his own hidden underneath the chition. He wanted to embrace his Phae, to tell him it was alright and he was there with him now. Nothing as bad would happen now and there was no use in panicking, well, at least not as strongly as he himself had done just a few minutes ago while carrying his convulsing body to the bed and then screaming at the doctor to hurry up. Luckily there was no equable injury, a tone of nasty cuts, bumps and a few severer contusions instead. The convulsions worried Alexander though, as well as the cool feel of the man's skin and his arrhythmic breath._

_He extended his hand, wanting to bring Hephaestion close and bask in his smell, warmth, everything, just to know for sure that he was alive and with him. Phae's eyes flashed with mad hatred when he collapsed onto the floor, fleeing from his touch and it was then that Alexander really began feeling entirely stupefied. His lover screamed at him, kicking out viciously like a newborn babe would, not a severely wounded and nearly drowned soldier as he tried to help him up and ease the pain from the fall. He cursed as one of the bones in his leg creaked tauntingly as Hephaestion finally managed to aim at him properly._

_After a few seconds some of his closest generals appeared, enticed by the noise and curious for Hephaestion's state. They made a bunch of comments as Alexander felt new tears curving his cheeks and Hephaestion's eyes began rolling into the back of his head, his breath growing shallower and more laboured. He wrestled in his grip initially but then seemed to have passed out once again. The weight made Alexander's knees wobble and he was quickly helped. They put the man back onto the bed, got some new thicker covers and pillows. Alexander thanked them and dismissed, silent when they asked him thousands of question about Amyntoros' peculiar behaviour. He told them to gather an additional pair of guards and just let them rest. He would give a speech to the whole generals' lot in the late morning, not in the middle of that night, that was undisputed._

_As he looked at Hephaestion snuggled down with material, his chest barely moving, he just hoped that it was only temporal and everything would go back to normal one moment, maybe not exactly as something like that was already impossible, but at least they could be just as always. Touches, laughter and peace, the only real home of his on Earth._

_Such thinking was naive though as the situation repeated itself at least a dozen of times during the night, Hephaestion's eyes blurry and his forehead burning hot. Alexander wanted to give him some medicine, anything to soothe him and ease the troubles his mind kept on feeding his whole body. Was it the shock from being drowned? Or was it something else, an old case? Alexander didn't let himself cling onto what ifs and what nots, snaking himself against the trembling body instead, not letting Hephaestion knock him too far these times. He hadn't slept a wink, shoved, kicked, scratched, pinched and soaked entirely with tears and sweat. He was embracing the other with his whole body, refusing to let go and even though Hephaestion refused to stop completely as well, his attacks were far less vicious and screams turned into quiet, deep-throated murmuring over time._

Alexander hoped that whatever Hephaestion had in his mind, it was only temporal and could be fixed. He looked at the door once again, deciding to come in and see, if he had woken up again. Moaning could mean a high fever still going on but the doctor would arrive with all the needed medicine only well past the midday. He run his hand through his thick curls, worry setting into the pit of his stomach like a lump of ice.

"My lord, I am here just as you asked me to come." A deep voice emerged from within the shadows obscuring the door to the halls and soon Bagoas' hair glistened in the greyish light filling the room. He had a couple of small bottles in both of his hands and a charming smile plastered onto his lips. One look at the king's face wiped it off quickly though and it was then that Alexander wondered just how horrendous exactly he must have looked.


	11. Tenderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You know my darling I can't stand to sleep alone  
>  No sweetheart in the dark to call my own  
> You're my own, you're my own, I can sing it, I can grow  
> But the darkness is a stranger in our lonely, lonely, lone._
> 
> _Last night's parties and last nights horrorshow  
>  Smiling and welling and kissing all I know  
> Give my soul, give my soul, sing it free across the sea  
> Lonely spell to conjure but conjure hell is all I do_
> 
> _Lonely, lonely, lonely, his mother told me  
>  The dream of love is a two hearted dream  
> Lonely, lonely, lonely, his mother told me  
> The dream of love is a two hearted dream_
> 
> **Sleep Alone** by Bat for Lashes (a fragment)

Bagoas wondered briefly whether it was safe enough to run already or he would have to stay at least a couple of minutes to distract Alexander well enough not to get killed the next time he'd see him. He was sure now, not even fairly, but wholly, that gods had chosen him as a sacrificial lamb years before his birth. He just didn't know which fate could be worse: death from the hands of the almighty Iskander or maybe the view of a barely breathing Hephaestion Amyntoros lying sprawled on the bed, too weak to even open his eyes.

The man was sick, there was no doubt about that. His eyelids trembled and from what the boy could see, he had a good part of his head already bandaged, as well as the left leg and a bit of the abdomen. There was blood on some of the bands but on the whole, they were rather soaked through with sweat rather than that crimson liquid. He had to have a high fever still going on for every muscle twitched from time to time and his eyes kept on rolling into the back of his head.

He looked truly pathetic and broken, dimmed because of the closed curtains' grayish light highlighting his languor.

Alexander was sitting at the head of the bed, combing his fingers through Hephaestion's matted locks. He had been deeply engrossed in his thoughts since the moment they came into the room, drenching a towel in a bowl filled with water and then chafing the man's face with it. So far he hadn't said anything to Bagoas, just motioned for him a while ago to bring over the oils he saw him caring before. He added a few drops of one to the water. The room started to smell of oranges.

"For the love of Tyche, stop it." Hephaestion's strained voice was shaky and filled with such sorrow that Bagoas flinched against his will and Alexander woke up from his torpor immediately. The man tugged at the covers surrounding his naked torso with effort for a while but finally slumped against the pillows, facing Alexander with his eyes still tightly closed. His breath was labored and Bagoas had to shuffle closer to be able to hear his next words. "Just let me die already and be over with it."

Alexander looked alarmed, surprise mixing with horror. He brought both of his hands onto the man's chest but as soon as he touched the wan skin, he swore. To say it was hot would be as accurate as to call Pella a village. It felt as if Hephaestion's muscles were about to melt.

"Just leave me here," The mumbling grew fainter, the man's breath hitching till it descended into a violent attack of dry cough. He moaned, moving his head to and fro on the pillow. "I want to die, let me die…"

Bagoas observed from afar, frozen at the spot. He knew nothing of medicine, all the less about illnesses, even a common cold kept on bringing him on his knees! Why did the king want him there when he was the one more oriented in the field, what with all the diets and things connected he heard him once whispering into the ears of various generals?

"Help me carry him to the bath. Quickly!" Alexander motioned for him to come closer, throwing pillows and covers off of the bed, as well as his own clothing. The boy wasn't surprised to see the general had been lining naked beneath all the material, his skin moist and shimmering with perspiration. Even though he looked awful and must have felt even worse, Bagoas had to say that he was well. Beautiful. Truly, even with some battle scars and healing torn tissue blemishing his limbs, he looked like a sculpture. Not that Bagoas hadn't seen more perfect bodies, of course he had had, this general wasn't even half as presentable as the men he had already been intimate with. Amyntoros was an aristocrat and all aristocrats were more or less similar in their perfection. This body though, with blood freely oozing from beneath various bandages, bruises blooming with as many colours as one could guess, quite an average height for a grown man. Well.

It was real. It was solid.

It was twitching boneless in Alexander's tender grasp. His hurrying him shouts were funnily deaf and numb in Bagoas ears. He felt as if he just dived into cool water when he got hold of Amyntoros calves. Unfortunately one of them was hurt and when he squeezed it, trying to balance the weight better, the man screamed gutturally and Alexander nearly tripped in panic. He brought his face close to Hephaestion's and whispered soothingly for a while, snuggling his body closer to his, chest coming onto back and shoulder blades slowly.

They walked step by step, Bagoas trying not to cause any further pain for the man, balancing his feet carefully onto the floor. By now he knew the arrangement of the king's rooms by heart and technically speaking, it was no problem to walk swiftly from the bed to the bath, even caring someone. Amyntoros was neither too heavy , nor was he too light. That wasn't a problem. A problem arose though when Bagoas was supposed not to even scratch the man against the many bibelots standing in-between the two locations. Finally, after two new bumps on the man's arms, one string of obscenities from Alexander later and a string of furiously whispered sorries and easeful touches addressed to an unconscious yet again Amyntoros, they were just a few centimeters from the bath's wooden form.

The boy stood now a few feet away from them, looking for towels, canvas and more oils. They mixed some of his already and added to the water. It was soothingly lukewarm, something not to shock such a burning hot body like Hephaestion's. Alexander had gotten rid of the rest of his clothing a while ago and now was sitting in the bath with the man propped against his chest, his knees holding him steadily down. He poured the liquid time and time again over himself and him, in the meantime rubbing the rest of the scented oils into Amyntoros' skin. Bagoas wasn't sure but he could swore he saw some people doing just the same thing when someone had had an injury in the past. The man moaned from time to time and it was then that Alexander would stop, bring his forehead onto the other's collarbone and wait some time before renewing his efforts with double care.

" _Alexander…_ "


	12. Sweetness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sweet dreams are made of this  
>  Who am I to disagree?  
> Travel the world and the seven seas  
> Everybody's looking for something_
> 
> _Some of them want to use you  
>  Some of them want to get used by you  
> Some of them want to abuse you  
> Some of them want to be abused_
> 
> **Sweet Dreams** by Eurythmics

"It is not our thing." Parmenion's voice was strained as he walked swiftly to and fro, his brows furrowed and a pained expression fixed upon his face. He stopped in front of the king's quarters, withdrawing his outstretched hand reflexively. He looked across at Philotas, his son's eyes dark in the corridor, obscured from his view. He coughed up, turning around fully, his expression not relaxing even for a moment. "We are his companions, my son. We care about the well-being of the fellow generals, we cannot disturb the king now. He was deeply disturbed by the recent events, have you not noticed?"

"Father." Philotas moved closer, his darkened with faux politeness face flashing excitedly. He had a plate full of various fruit in one of his hands and a jug of the finest Greek vine rested among his right hip. He placed the vessel between his calves for a moment and took a good bite of one of the reddest apples. He smiled widely and murmured calmly between his munching, rolling his eyes at the same time at his father's nervousness, "We're here to wish Hephaestion everything best. Our fellow generals sent the two of us, remember? What are you so worried about anyway?"

"You are plotting something my son, and I tell you once again." the elder man moved closer, his cheeks beginning to get flushed at the sauce his son was showing. Didn't he see they weren't in the Macedon any longer and one faux step could cost them everything, not even the two of them, but their whole family? Where were his more cold-blooded sons when he needed them, not just this hot-heated youth who thought himself to be at the top of the world all the time, where for Zeus' sake were they? "Stop whatever troubles your mind and come to your senses before it's too late."

Parmenion wanted to curse him, wanted to smile and pretend that everything would be fine, because, hadn't it been just that way for all he could remember? Plans and the gossiping, drunken brawls proving to hold much less truth than one aware enough would hope for them to reveal but there was that feeling deep in his gut, deep under all the layers of good natured grimaces and patience that something was going horribly wrong and would bury them all alive before he could even cry "Forgive me, Alexander, son of Phillip, I am innocent!" as if anybody would be listening to him at such a moment. He was worried as only a general with his whole family intertwined with the army's life could be. He wanted to come to Philotas and shake him once and for good, shake all of these ugly thoughts from his head, shake them away for good as if that would mean anything to his son.

"I have no idea what you are referring to, father." And Philotas' eyes are smiling, smiling widely with mischief when he knocks lightly at the door, his lisp reddened from the stingy apple juice trickling down his chin.

Parmenion was scared. He was scared of the rumors going round the camp, idiotic rumors that could cost them both their lives. His son trying to overthrown Alexander via ambushing Amyntoros, a good one indeed! Even he, Philotas, the greatest fool of all the great fools, couldn't be dense enough to plot something like that, could he? But what if Alexander had already heard them and Hephaestion's state itself wasn't the thing that kept him sleepless last night? Doubts, doubts and doubts, there was nothing solid to think about now, all the less speculate accordingly to the reality but Parmenion remembered the cold streak of fear filling him in the morning when Alexander showed them himself, disheveled, tired and mad, emotions mixing in him like a river never meant to run dry. Amyntoros was stupid, he was just a doll in the man's hands but now it dawned at him just precisely how valuable indeed the doll was to its owner. They had a week to find whoever did the whole trick and most probably, whoever plotted the whole thing. And the great general knew already that the doubt had settled in the king because of the previous encounters with rumors about Philotas' greedy nature for praise and the lack of appreciation from his soldiers. It was there alright and his questioning eyes befalling them as the young fool started to chatter into his ear about all the juicy gossiping he had heard lastly about Alexander and Hephaestion's romance blooming, Parmenion knew instantly that they were way deeper in trouble than ever.

Parmenion wished to all the gods, he promised them thousands of sacrifices just so his son hadn't been stupid enough to risk everything they ever attained, plotting the plan that was imperfect from the start. He wanted to see Hephaestion up and about as soon as possible because that smile on his son's face was disturbing and he wished he could claw it from his face before even the spirits could notice it, all the less Alexander himself.

They waited before the doors, Philotas starting to hum quietly and Parmenion eyeing him worriedly. For a moment the latter hoped that maybe the king fell asleep after the troubling night or had gone to check on Amyntoros in his respectable room where he would have been surely transported to. Before he could voice his thought though, the heavy wood creaked and an eye peeped out from the inside, its blue unmistakable.

Alexander's hair was wet, its heavy strands hanging loosely round his pale face when he stepped into the corridor, a gesture that surprised Parmenion greatly. Usually, he invited his generals into his rooms, not truly sure of the ears of the warders but now he waved dismissively at the men standing behind them, telling them to come back some time later. He was shivering slightly underneath his colourful robes. He stared at Parmenion from under his furrowed brows for a moment and then glanced at the casually slumped against the wall Philotas, his facial muscles tensing slightly at the view. He folded his arms, standing as straight as a chord, his voice steady and yet somewhat cracked. "If you do not have any new information concerning the assassin, please do not disturb me."

Parmenion looked at him, trying to decipher whatever was going through the head of the youth in front of him. He wasn't being as defiant as he usually was, there was a detached tone to him, something that the old general seemed not to have noticed before. Or maybe it hadn't been there before?

Before he could ask Alexander about his state, about Amyntoros' state or the rumors, Philotas broke into rich laugh, the sound loud, far too loud in the empty corridor. "We came to brighten up Hephaestion's worrisome day, Alexander! Look what Cleitus gave us to sweeten your wait for the traitor to be brought before you," he shook the wine, the fluid sloshing against the earthenware walls sweetly. He maneuvered the golden platter so that the fruit could be better seen. Morelandites, peaches, apples and two grenades rolled to and fro, bumping onto sugar coated slices with a smack, "and look, these are from my own ration, nothing too fancy compared to the royal meals I bet but think of this as a token of friendship, my king. Oh, and here I have-"

"Enough, Philotas." Parmenion murmured, bringing a hand onto the boy's shoulder and he quieted, finally looking the king in the face instead of blabbering like a man deprived of his senses. He nearly swore at what he saw but Parmenion squeezed his shoulder, closing his lips with it.

Alexander's smile was strained and his hands were cold on Philotas' when he took the gifts from him. He gazed at them for a moment, weighing the crockery with an unreadable look in his eyes before smashing both the vessel and the plate onto the nearest wall. Wine splashed onto the floor thickly, staining it blood red and some of the fruit that didn't get smashed right away, rolled into the crimson puddle having bounced from the wall. The aroma bloomed in the corridor like new picked flowers and Philotas looked shocked at Alexander, his father parting his own lips like a gawking fish in his own lack of comprehension for the situation. The king frowned at them, his robes stained now with the odds and ends of the food. Parmenion cried silently to Zeus to have them in his care as Alexander's eyes started to shine with cold fury the eldest hadn't seen since the morning.

The king stepped forward, yanking Philotas by the collar of his chition, bringing him onto his eyelevel. Parmenion's son was taller than Alexander, which wasn't anything uncommon for the rest of the army and especially the Persians with their long legs and heads stuck firmly among the clouds. Alexander searched the man's eyes for something Parmenion hoped he would find sooner than later for the sake of them all. "Do not disturb me with your worthless gestures. I do not need them, all the less does Hephaestion!" Alexander barked finally, shoving the youth away with enough strength to have him fall onto his rear several feet away. His face tightened when he looked at Parmenion but didn't move towards him.

"I told the others we should leave you to your rest, Alexander but they didn't listen." The man said calmly, looking between his fallen son and the outraged face of the once greatest king's son. They looked so alike, Parmenion mused somewhat eerily, so alike and yet differently. The boy's two-coloured eyes burnt and his body was tense and Parmenion waited for the blow, waited for the accusation and the pain. He waited for their downfall. "They are worried about you and Hephaestion and instead of doing something needful, they show their care the only way they can, you know them the best after all."

Alexander looked at him intently and, as if a sudden thought stroke him, he glanced worried round his shoulder, parting his lips in a silent gasp. Parmenion thought it a bit strange but instead of commenting on it he waited and so, before his stupid son could muster any of his left-out courage, Alexander returned to his spot at the door. He nodded at Parmenion swiftly, "Do not disturb me with any needless visits from this moment on. I believe I speak clearly now and there will be no misunderstandings in the future. Bring me the assassin, nothing more, all the less wine," he sneered, looking fleetingly at the still sated on the floor Philotas, "or fruit. I need rest and so does Hephaestion Amyntoros. May Zeus have both of you in his care." And without saying anything else he disappeared behind the door, closing it with a quiet click, the air moving and flourishing with the scent of oriental incenses and Persian oils from inside of the room.

If Parmenion didn't doubt it the sheer moment he heard it, he could have sworn he heard somebody coughing when Alexander opened the door but most probably it was just his age getting the better of his mind. It must've been just that, because whoever could be in the same room as the king anyway?


	13. Incomprehension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It would be so easy  
>  To sing a song about you  
> It would be so easy  
> To sing a sobby pink song about you_
> 
> _I would spend three or four lines  
>  On describing your eyes  
> And then the next three or four lines  
> On the dimples of your smile  
> And then I would tell the world  
> About the way you hold my hand  
> And they would  
> They would understand_
> 
> **Song No. Six** by Ane Brun

Hephaestion's hair was damp, staining the pillow with watery trails. He smelled of flowers and fruit and Alexander drank in the smell, drank into the sight of him breathing and looking slightly better than in the night. The man's breathing was fatigued and he tried to roll away when Alexander touched him but there was little strength left in him after the night of trashing and moaning. He glanced at Alexander from under heavy eyelids, his sclera bloodshot and tinted with blue, "Why am I in here, once again?" He coughed some, looking at the ceiling and trying to ignore the prying fingers caught up between his hair. His mood seemed to had brighten up somewhat. He was still tense but at least wasn't aiming his fists at Alexander's face anymore. "You are one son of a witch, my king"

Alexander tsked, smiling faintly. "And you are being highly troublesome, general Amyntoros." He brought the water-dripping cloth onto the other's forehead, smudging with it wrinkles that hadn't been there before. The liquid trickled down Hephaestion's temples, making him shiver slightly. Alexander paused at that, looking him straight in the eye worriedly. "Is it too cold? You still have a fever going, we need to decrease it somehow."

Hephaestion flickered his eyes to the side. He didn't remember much from the previous day or night apart from the sheer knowledge of being stuck in the king's own bed for at least a dozen of hours straight. When he had woken up, he had been much more dazed and tired than he could remember ever being. It was highly frustrating not to be able to stand up, move around or even lift his head properly. It felt as if it would split open with the slightest of moves and the fact that Alexander of all people was tending to him was just as suspicious as it was surprising. He was a king, not a servant. He'd never done anything like that before and it upset Hephaestion. He wasn't a doll that could be touched whenever one wanted to, a doll to undress and enfold with covers up his neck. He must have fallen ill, something miraculous and well, unexpected. He was of a strong health, nothing wavered it too heavily or could bend it like a grass' blade. Hephaestion didn't understand why he was trapped inside his own bodies malfunctions and why exactly there were bandages round some of his limbs. There was something deeply blocked inside of himself, something he couldn't decipher and felt not really worthy of trying to recall. Something frightening but the sheer thought of it appeared ridiculous, what could be frightening for a soldier like him, what could make him block everything up and end up in his once lover's bed?

Alexander looked tired but why would he be? No way in Tartarus would he have had stayed the whole night, no matter how much Hephaestion wanted to cling onto a falsely romantic fairytale. He must have had gone to the party after all and now was suffering one of its morning aftereffects. He had shadows underneath his eyes and the smile he sent every couple of seconds towards him was shaky and blemished with sadness whose cause Hephaestion couldn't put his finger on. Where was the defiantness, the bravado, where had that self-centered bastard who made his life a catastrophic fall gone to? Where was the person whom he could hate with as much fire as he loved them, where was Xander he promised himself to forget? The lack of servants and a few guards showing up from time to time was doubtful though, as well as the mess the room was currently in. There were pillows propped by his back and arms and Alexander straightened them a couple of times, a nervous gesture which made Hephaestion's eyebrows go up his forehead the moment he realized him doing that. Alexander and being nervous? Had the world already gone mad while he was sleeping?

"Alexander." The whisper was raspy and delicate, Hephaestion hating the glassy texture it possessed. The man was seating just a few inches from him, his eyes set at some afar point in the sky or whatever else. He seemed not to have heard him. Hephaestion tugged at one of the his sleeves urgently, his arm lead heavy. "Alexander, look at me."

And the king glanced down at him, his wheat yellow hair looking like fur of some wet dog rather than the golden curls many wished to have. He looked strange, some deep hollowness encircling his whole hunched down silhouette like a stormy cloud and Hephaestion wondered briefly whether his current state paled in comparison or not.

"What is it, love?" Alexander brought a hand to his cheek, seeming to check for the fever, an absent look entering his eyes. He smiled to himself, feeling his cheekbone, jaw line and then playfully tapping Hephaestion's nose. He seemed somewhat calmer now, some of his previous franticness gone somewhere and Hephaestion lost interest in any answer he could give to whatever of his question. There was sadness in the way Alexander was looking down at him and Hephaestion tried to think of any logical cause of the peculiar behavior. First lining in the bed whose covers he had nearly completely forgotten, then being pampered by the man and now the strange emotions he hadn't seen Alexander express before. Sure, Alexander was a hot-heated man, one rather to show his anger and happiness though over worry or fear of anything and then say things sooner than thinking them over carefully. He was foolish in that openness of his at times and eagerness to brag about things he had no idea of.

Now though there was something hidden, something disturbing him from the inside and Hephaestion debated with himself for a moment if he really wanted to know whatever was troubling Alexander and so, he looked away instead of asking Alexander what all of this meant. Was he seriously ill? Or was it something else? Alexander didn't use to worry for him much in the older times, he would rather believe that he'd manage anything than care too much overall. He wasn't overprotective of Hephaestion in any sense of the word and the last few days just made it undoubtedly clear.

Hephaestion felt confused, stupefied to some extent even but his face remained composed. The questioning look Alexander was giving him felt like flames on his skin, urging him to turn around once again and face whatever was awaiting him. Before he could decide what was less frightening, getting to know the truth or remaining blissfully unaware for the time being however, Hephaestion caught a glimpse of the last person he wanted to see in such a state of mind.

"My lord, I brought you your meal." The smell of some roasted meat and olive oil was nauseously strong as Bagoas came close to the bed, a tray firmly clasped in his hands. Hephaestion stared at him, unmoving. He felt blood drain upsettingly quickly from his face, a curious jolt deep in his gut as if he had just missed a step and was about to come tumbling down. Hephaestion felt his muscles tremble, the hand round Alexander's sleeve trembling like one of an old man. The later was oblivious to everything of course, as he usually was to whatever happened between the two of them, a general and an eunuch, his eyes full of cold gratefulness curiously. Hephaestion felt that had to do something with the last of king's night arguments, the one he kept on running through the corridors and screaming obscenities addressed to Bagoas. He didn't hope much when it came to that one episode but still, afterwards was the first time he had seen Alexander in his rooms since two months. It could make him smile, make him want to dance with joy upon the thought of Bagoas displeasing Alexander but Hephaestion felt burnt out. There was no hope left in him, anger and sadness taking its place swiftly in his heart.

The eunuch smiled sweetly at him the next second, looking as if he was genuinely happy to see him. Hephaestion wanted to either start screaming or crying. Or both when the creature set the tray before him, flickering his eyes fleetingly to Alexander's, as if asking silently for permission. The king nodded, the cold expression on his face not wavering even for a moment when he looked at Bagoas, squeezing one of Hephaestion's hands reassuringly at the same time. Bagoas looked away, nodded swiftly and backed away the same way he had come into the view. He didn't look once round his shoulder like he usually did while biding goodbye to Alexander.

Hephaestion must have been dreaming, there was no other logical explanation for all of this when Alexander smiled at him softly and motioned for him to take the soup he hadn't noticed before on the tray. He helped himself some of the roasted meat and stared into the distance, leaving Hephaestion to blow on the boiling hot liquid tasting of olives and some chicken.

If it was a dream, it was getting much too complicated for him to handle it all fully.


	14. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is quite astonishing to see that so many people seem to like this story and the way it has gone so far. Sorry for a future rather long pause as I am having exams at the moment and have to concentrate fully on RL. Fear not, though! This is definitely not the ending chapter!
> 
> If anyone knows this story from FF.net, I actually edited some paragraphs. Will have to do the same with the rest of the story once I have more time. Refresh the whole thing :)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it. Rate and comment, I truly welcome any feedback.

It had been over a week since Hephaestion was able to stand up again and do things round himself on his own. He was grateful to gods the embarrassment came to a halt finally and he escaped the king's quarters as soon as the physicians said it was possible. Maybe not the best way to show one's gratitude for constant care and companionship but that was the the last thing Hephaestion had in his mind whenever he thought about Alexander's strange behavior. Or rotting away underneath some silken covers.

Walking round the palace once again was refreshing, in every meaning of the word. His head had to be still bandaged but the rest of the linen had been taken away. Hephaestion tried asking what had happened, why in the name of Zeus he had been treated like a child, pampered, fed and clutched at as if he would vanish from sight the next blink of an eye. Generals, servants, you name them, they knew nothing. He thought even about asking Bagoas, alas the boy kept on fleeing from his grasp whenever he caught a glimpse of him in the halls those days. Alexander on the other hand was simply helpless to talk to; it seemed his paranoia had doubled during the previous week, just like the belief for anything spiritual. There were people ready to lay the deadliest of blows, ready to strike precisely then or the following moment; his eyes kept on darting sideways whenever Hephaestion brought the topic of his sudden and mysterious illness. It was tiresome, the whispering, questioning looks entwined with new topics to gossip about following his every footstep in the main buildings, during lonesome walks. Well, they were never as lonesome as one would have hoped for; there were guards walking in the shadows, silently watching every move, escorting him everywhere he went, something he had never noticed before.

It felt as if there was a great secret nobody wanted him to be a part of, something children liked to do to each other during a play. It was no playground though! They were in the middle of a war with the greatest empire in the known world, why hide anything from one of the few in the highest command? How could they do anything as foolish, anything as childish and grown from spite alone?

Hephaestion kept fighting with his thoughts, having excused himself from a meal with others because of a headache. It had been no slick lie that time; those days his head felt ready to burst whenever the atmosphere grew too shaky, or the sounds kept being as loud as they usually were. He would have wanted to go rest in the greatest park but it had been closed for no apparent reason as the guards told him the other day. His authority failed to achieve him anything; it was the king's own prohibition and thus could be abolished only by him alone. Good, Hephaestion thought to himself, firstly the respect of others and his own, now the only thing that could bring him peace in this hell of a place. What else did Alexander want to take from him, he could very well begin taking that very minute! It was a thought of a petulant child, bitter and laced with sadness. But well, still just a childish thought of a whimsical pipsqueak that could do nothing but stomp their foot in passive anger.

 

"Good evening, general. I am glad to have ventured into you, sir."

 

Suddenly a deep voice rang in the corridor, startling Hephaestion out of his thoughts. It was a girl, a blonde that seemed to have come out of nowhere; she looked at him expectantly as if toying with the idea of him knowing her name. Her column like silhouette was clad in a turquoise chition and her sandy hair was clasped into a tight bun at the base of the neck. She had a face he had seen somewhere before; her lips pomegranate red and eyes a shade or two darker than grass in Greece.

"What are doing here so late in the evening, servant?"

They were standing at an arm distance in the middle of the hall leading either to the sleeping chambers on the first floor, or the kitchen rooms in the eastern wing. She had no working clothes on her and looked too young to be anyone's personal maid; anyways, he knew most of them by their looks. She had Greek features, a fair skin and an accent that was not blemished much by the Persian way of speaking.

Interesting, really interesting.

The girl licked her lips as if hearing the stray trail of thoughts, slowly adjusting the jug of wine she had resting on her hip and which Hephaestion had not noticed before. She smiled softly, letting the fluid slosh from one clay wall to the other by a lazy move of her hips.

"The king asked for someone to bring the supper for him. He has said to tell you he wanted to talk to you, sir Amyntoros, if any of the servants succeeded in finding you. I am glad to have accomplished both tasks at the same time."

"Really, now?" He crossed his arms, looking her straight in the eye with a smile of his own. She was only half a head smaller than him. "You must be quite proud of yourself then, girl. Not many know the paths I choose to walk on my own. Good job, I presume."

Her lips only widened in a yet sweeter smile. "Thank you, my lord. I have spent my younger years in this palace. I know its secrets better than many that ventured inside but did not want to learn anything."

Hephaestion gazed at her, not really understanding the point she was trying to make. Her words seemed to have some sinister undertone to them. Unease settled in the pit of his stomach. She was still smiling though, with eyes glistening merrily underneath bangs of golden locks and a delicate flush of red on the cheeks. He banished the thought with great effort; no matter what wicked thoughts people may have on their minds, not everyone ended up fulfilling them. Perhaps the girl was not really a servant, rather a heater and it was rich food and wine speaking. Or anything like that, he was growing just as superstitious as Alexander himself, curse the already blasted trail of thought for Zeus' thunderbolts!

"May I go now, sir? The king will have been waiting far too long for his own liking and I still have to-"

"Yes, yes..." Hephaestion said absent-mindedly, already marching towards his own room, thinking of a cool pool of water to rinse his face and get all of those silly reminiscences out of his head. It was starting to pulse with the faintest shadow of pain. "Get the food, anything, just- You're dismissed, just go. Yes, go. Go."

"Understood, sir. The king said he would be waiting in the grand garden for you." And so the girl had gone before Hephaestion was able to spun around and gape at her. He had closed the garden but wanted to see him in it? Alexander at his finest, Olympias and her antics be damned.

With that in mind, he soon drenched a towel in a bowl of icy cold water and finally relaxed. One more thing left, one more step left to make tonight and then, just Hypnos and his lullabies. Just a slosh of wine and peaceful sleep. He changed into some fresh clothing, used a few droplets of an orange oil that curiously ended up in his quarters out of nowhere but was welcome there all the same. With hair hidden sideways by the bandage, he looked like a girl ready for marriage, he noticed in the mirror with slight smirk. Well, Alexander would not have wanted anything lesser to toy with though, would he?

 

He webt to the garden a couple of minutes later, with a few stray guards sneaking up on him as if they had thought they were invisible. A pair at the door saluted him, uncrossing their swords to let him in. The sun was setting in, its stray rays dancing gracefully on the water of the many ponds and some longer blades of grass. There were jugs of wine scattered round here and there as well as plates filled with every Persian fruit the kitchen could get its hands onto. Some roasted meat in golden bowls, nuts mixed with sea salt, juice in all shades of red, orange and yellow.

Since he had felt better, Hephaestion got a few similar invitations before but did not trust himself enough not to lose his temper had he accepted any of them straight away. There were unspoken things between him and Alexander, some things that seemed far too important to be missed out like that. Forget Bagoas and that farce of a relationship, why in the name of Hades had the king decided to play a mother hen for him during that illness? Had he been worthy enough to renew the contact neither of them needed then? Or maybe he had only wanted to humiliate him further, showing the generals how little he needed to do to make his whores be all smiles once again? So much food must have gone to waste those previous times he had told the page to tell the king that he was tired, that another headache was blooming or to think of something more creative next time. On the other hand, it was all theirs now, all things alive or cold as a jewel. Everything, much more than that pitiful treasure-chamber in Pella, half-empty the day they were leaving for the great conquest.

 

Alexander stood at the terrace overlooking the city, his back turned to the entrance and his body slumped heavily onto the whitish stone of the banister. He seemed to be deeply engrossed in his thoughts. Wind smoothed light clothes along the brawny silhouette of his, tousling his golden locks at the same time. By that time,Alexander seemed to have had regained some of his usual vigor but there were still times when Hephaestion saw him cringe and smile nervously at him. He tried not to observe him too intently after the prolonging stay in their once shared bed; the same thing could not be said about Alexander himself. He tried to be more discreet than usually but Hephaestion literally felt the king's eyes try to penetrate his skull each time they saw each other, be it meals, talks or just a brief good morning in the halls. Studying his face, maybe looking for weak points or yet another reason to have him transported back to his chambers and be able to pamper him like an over-sized child once again.

 

"You finally decided to grace me with your presence, I am grateful." Alexander's voice was quiet but Hephaestion could still hear him perfectly clear despite the distance remaining between them. A couple of wide steps and he would be at a mere elbow from him. He did not see it fit, though. Not now, not so soon.

Alexander glanced at him over his shoulder, smiling welcomingly. "I am truly grateful to see you in a good shape, beloved.'

"One cannot say the same about you, my king." Hephaestion answered lightly, crossing his arms defensively. "You look horrible, truly not in your greatest shape these past few days." It was so easy to see what made Alexander tick, to provoke the already known situations, see irrelevant reactions come to life once again.

He felt sweat gather at the base of his neck. Athena, give him strength to talk to this foolish man! He swallowed thickly before staring the man hard in the eyes, forgetting altogether about steering the talk in a more orderly fashion 

"Alexander, cut the formalities and tell me why you wanted to see me. What is it, another plan of capturing further cities? Moving East or rather South? You want me here as one of your generals, not an acquaintance. I presume as much at least, and thus present my service instantly."

He swayed slightly on the heels of his sandals. It was true, well, mostly. He would still follow Alexander to death and back, be it Persia, barbarian territories or the end of the world as they knew it; he was a soldier after all. A fit, trained to kill soldier ready to break enemies' bones and lives but it was work, a part of his person that would always be there. A lover that still saw the dream, that still wanted some happiness for the man, his own be damned if that was what the Moires saw fit for him. Although, not much of his heart would have been left in the actions before some answers had not come into the view. Before the situation had not made itself more clear or the cause had not seemed bright and promising once again. Forget the treasures, forget the glory! He already had had some of that before Phillip died, before they all had to grow up some more to become generals of their own battles and a new full-fledged-on war.

 

He wanted to come clean with him, to see how things had changed since the gold begun rotting them alive, before the incenses' smell grew nauseatingly strong. Was there anything worth fighting for left in there, left in Alexander and himself?

 

Alexander did not look much shaken by his outburst. "Now I see you were really ready to strangle me in my sleep, had you had the chance." He chuckled quietly, still observing the city and its slowly lightning up lights. "Good thing I'm better with my thighs now than when we were still whelps, huh?" Soon his smile faded and a sad grimace twisted his lips instead. "What is it, dear Eros?" He murmured half to himself, half to no one in particular, "What have I done to deserve such treatment from the only one I love?'

 

Eros, God of love, please get your arrow and just stab him in the heart, plain and simple. Now would be the best time if you don't mind, so Hephaestion here did not have to do all the bloody work himself.

 

"You do not know what you have-" Hephaestion heard himself mumbling, not really knowing what was happening any longer. "YOU do not-"

He felt as if a Fury herself had come over his body. Blood rage, that was it. That was it, in Hades' name. He didn't know what he had done? Then who would have known better than that bastard? He had not changed at all, no matter all the fake tears spilled over his bed sheets, over those oils he kept on rubbing into Hephaestion's temples. He knew that treachery would prove itself over time, how could it be any different with Alexander, the only son of the great mistress of evil deeds herself? 

"Hephaestion, what is it?'" Alexander groaned suddenly with exasperation, hiding his face in his hands for a long moment. Then, he spun around, staring hard at the other man and tried in vain not to bark in frustration: "WHAT is it, for Hera's sake?!" As Alexander stalked closer to him, his eyes flashed with anger Hephaestion had not seen him express in the last few weeks, "What makes you act like this, what have I done wrong this time to deserve such, such-, anything like that, to-" 

Hephaestion pursed his lips.

Alexander was breathing hard onto his neck, some Persian smell mixing with the one of his own sweat. "I guess you would have been happy if I had been the one that nearly ended up dead in here, huh? Would you now?"

"What are you blabbering about now, you drunkard pig? Who do you think you are to say such things to me, you-" Hephaestion hissed, trying to take a step back but Alexander was quicker. He grasped both of his wrists as hard as a vice, strong enough to hurt if he had pressed some more. Hephaestion wanted to spit in that mad face so much then, in those two-coloured eyes but his curiosity won over the simmering fury. He stopped trying to break free and regarded the man coldly with his eyes.

"Now I have your attention back? Good." Alexander said simply, leeting go of his wrists at once. He sighed before bringing his hands onto Hephaestion's shoulders tentatively, as if afraid to have them bitten off the next second. "I love you. No matter what you think you're doing while trying to distance yourself." He shook him gently, underlining every word he said with a gentle move. "I love _you_ , no one else, no matter whether you like it or not."

"And what about Bagoas, then? What about all of the others, Alexander?" Hephaestion laughed humorlessly. "If they are not your companions, then who exactly are they?" He shook off the hands of his shoulders and sat heavily onto the grass, adding with annoyance: "Don't tell me your sad old lies, my king. I would not have enough time or patience, even if given eternity solely for that purpose, to listen to them all over again."

"Hephaestion, you don't understand, why are you being so, so-"

"Troublesome? Foolish? Not blind enough to still keep on nodding to your every word?" He provided the answers with ease, looking disinterestedly at Alexander's hurt face. It was not the first time they were having such a talkand perhaps not the last. "Alexander, I am tired of this situation. I am tired of being looked down upon because of your actions, ridiculed at every step, I want to-"

"To leave me here? To go back to Macedon?" Alexander whispered desperately, crouching in front of him. "Is that what you want? Would that make you truly happy?"

"I do not know what I want anymore." Hephaestion answered quietly, laying his chin onto his brought up the chest knees. "Is that what you would have me do? Free yourself of the guilt and be able to do anything you desired?" He glanced back at the man, at his darkening eyes. "Would you have me free yourself of the burden of my love, Alexander?"

 

The man did not say anything for a long moment and Hephaestion thought that that was it. That was the final answer. He was not needed any more, not that he had ever truly been. He would go back to Pella, to his aged father. He would be the one to have doubted the king, the one not fit for the role nobody really wanted him to play. He could live somehow, not in luxuries anymore because, who would like to see a companion of Alexander deserting the king? Maybe he was indeed just a whore of his in the end? Nothing without the king, nothing beside him as well. Just an ornament, just something to remind him he was mortal or maybe quite the contrary, who could really guess the true meaning of such things?

 

Hephaestion began to get up when he felt a tug at one of his sleeves. "Let go." Then, he was brought onto the ground once again with his rear hitting the heated grass with a thud. "Alexander, stop being stubborn like a child."

 

The man was staring at him with unblinking eyes, "You do not understand, Hephaestion, you do not." His hands shook when he brought Hephaestion's face close to his own. "I can't let you go, no, Hephaestion- Hephaestion, listen to me, I-"

"I have been listening to you for more than half of my life, Alexander. Look where that has lead us so far!" Hephaestion choked, trying to pry the fingers away with his own. "Let go and be free if that is what you have always longed for!"

"You foolish man!" Alexander suddenly growled, pushing Hephaestion onto his back. He felt air being knocked out of his lungs when the king pressed him into the ground, immobilizing him once and for all. "For who am I even trying here, for Zeus' sake!" He blocked Hephaestion's shoulders by their joints. "For someone who hates me more than those blasted Persians!" Alexander bellowed angrily, his cheeks flushed.

Hephaestion did not know whether to cry or to laugh. That must have been quite the view. A general trashing on the grass with the king himself pressed on top of him like an over-sized cat, hissing and mumbling incoherent words. 

They wrestled for control for no more than ten minutes when Alexander barked once again, his legs nearly giving up their hold on Hephaestion's own, "I cannnot lose you and will not as long as I have any say in that, you childish brat!" With some difficulty he twisted Hephaestion's hands high above his head. "Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Hephaestion?!"

"Am I supposed to care much for these words? Are they supposed to mean _anything_?!" Hephaestion only growled back, trying to break Alexander's hold on him. "Listen to yourself for once! Listen to these lies you keep on insting on feeding me with!" His legs kept on kicking at empty air. "Let me go, let go for Hades' sake, you twisted-!"

 

Suddenly a flicker of gold loomed at the door. Somebody's hair or maybe a plate? Hephaestion stared at the place where it appeared for a good moment and it was then that Alexander suddenly went boneless on top of him, forgetting altogether about the struggle. Shakings tore through muscles of both of them.

"I thought I had died myself when I found you that night. Your skin was as blue as the sky." He brought Hephaestion close to himself. "I cannot take this anymore, I cannot bear the thought of seeing that sight ever again."

"What?" Hephaestion swallowed thickly, seeming to have frozen in place, his eyes returning to gaze at Alexander. The dull ache in the back of his head was returning when he struggled to remember anything that could resemble the thing the man was mumbling about. "'tis the wine talking once more, is it not?"

Alexander's voice grew annoyed for a moment, "'snot the wine, the physician said you might not remember anything afterwards." He propped himself on his elbows and stared into Hephaestion's eyes hard and serious. "Maybe because of the fever or the concussion, I do not know." His hands came to ghost over Hephaestion cheeks and lips. "But that had been an assassin and he is still there. Hephaestion, please. I cannot lose you. Hephaestion, I cannot.'

"So it has not been just another of my nightmares?" Hephaestion whispered astonished. "That is the reason you were there all the time?" He started feeling faint. "You really were looking after me? You were… Oh. I- "

So all of those days and nights with Alexander by his side had not been a mere fantasy? He really had been there. In fever, in better times. And there had been him, complaining all the time, cursing his name every other moment. Pushing him as far as possible so that he could feel alone for a change. Unwanted.

"I am sorry, oh Zeus, I am-," he choked on the words, their taste bitter and heavy on his lips, "I am so sorry-" Hephaestion heard himself say as if from a distance, finally letting Alexander arms encircle him, his own face hiding in shame in the man's golden locks.

 

In the end it was him who apologized first, no matter how big each of their respective sins were. 

 

Then, Alexander took his face in his hands and kissed him. Slowly and patiently, with a just a hint of passion.

"I understand now, I am sorry for all the wrongs I have done. I am indeed sorry, Hephaestion. Maybe, just maybe all of this would not have happened if, you know-' He smiled through tears that shone in his. "Is this what will bring us both peace? Understatement?"

Hephaestion only nodded mutely in return, smiling a shaky smile of his own.


	15. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written this series for such a long time and thus wonder if there is still anyone actually willing to read it. My style has evolved over the years, and so has my knowledge of English. I am going to start editing and proof-reading earlier chapters and hopefully get back to writing about Hephaestion and Alexander. 
> 
> I look forward to reading your reviews and suggestions, they mean a lot to me. Especially now, when I am coming back to writing fanfiction after such a big break that I have unknowingly started a while ago and am willing to end at last. Wish me luck!

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. The pattern of time gets woven, it stretches and creaks audibly at the seams, as if Moiras are spinning his destiny between their bony fingers, arguing what should be done about this pitiful life of a companion.

Hephaestion bathes in silks, in caresses and happy smiles his new-old-found lover gives him but the inside of the sweet fruit is rotten. The core smells of sulfur and Hades’ gaze bores into him at night, when Alexander’s skin glistens in the oil lamps’ shadows, all brown curves and lithe muscles flexing under his restless fingers. The acrid smoke is going in clouds above their bed, swirling and forming a myriad of shades Hephaestion is not able to fight; no matter how much his arms stretch, his hands grab at nothing.

“I am tired,” he mutters one evening, splayed across pillows, his hair falling like a waterfall across Alexander’s lap. The king gazes at him for a long moment, and the  papyrus he was reading gets immediately discarded to the side, amongst the heap of documents already littering the floor of his chambers. “I am so very tired, Alexander”.

“Should I call for the physician?” The king asks in a small voice, as if afraid to flush him out. A skittish soul Hephaestion has become, but after weeks of being treated like a fragile bird of paradise, it was alright. So, so tiresome but acceptable.

Hephaestion looks into Alexander’s eyes, two-coloured starlets set firmly under a frown, the upside view accentuating the man’s lips and nose. And what a nose! Straight and yet crooked, long and yet slightly upturned. He gazes into his face,  the twitching muscles as Alexander peers at him on his own accord, lips moving, cheeks flexing as he starts to say something, something so far away from Hephaestion’s ears even though he is right there.

The sound resonates through their joint bones, and Hephaestion closes his eyes, as Alexander lays a searching hand across his chest, feeling his heartbeat. The fatigue is deadly, it snakes around his nerves, it snakes around his whole body and soon Hephaestion is engulfed in Alexander’s arms, the man’s breath ghosting over his forehead.

“I want to die.” Hephaestion says, his voice sounding alien to his own ears, and a headache blooms just over his eyelids, pulsating as Alexander starts to restlessly bounce on the back of his heels. He mutters under his breath, a string of pearly uttered words and Hephaestion can just picture the rush, the physical need to light up incenses, to pray loud and full-bodily like Alexander used to do in the past.

But instead they lay on the floor, entwined in each other and Hephaestion does not understand why the aching void within him does not diminish, it only grows and grows before tears start to fall down his cheeks. Bitter and salty, mixed with sweat, they snake down his cheekbones and disappear down the crooks of Alexander’s elbows, glistening in the light as they go, like small starlets or maybe drops of Hera’s milk splayed across the night sky.

“Why can’t I be happy, Alexander?” He asks, eyes still closed. They lay there, like two broken statues, joints bent at awkward angles but Alexander does not let go. Hephaestion can hear him weep on his own accord, deep breaths mixed with choked words but the world swirls and drifts away, it all mixes itself up as Hephaestion breathes in deeply, trying to shush the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I discovered some videos I made about Alexander/Hephaestion ages ago, would be more than happy to show you the results if there is anyone interested :D


	16. Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you very much for the positive feedback and views the story has got since I posted the last reboot chapter of sorts. I am really grateful and still amazed, to be perfectly honest, that there are still people out there who are eager to read this story and read things written by me. Thank you all so much, every kudo and comment means a lot to me, all the more now that I am slowly recovering from my long, long and so crippling writer's block. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you sweet people, I feel now pumped up enough to get myself engrossed in the historical research once more. It feels amazing to have that rush of information and creativity flowing through me once again, like it was in the older times. Thank you so very much and I hope you like this and the coming plot lines, chapters etc. You are awesome and thank you. You humble me.

It does not take long for Hephaestion to fall asleep once nestled in Alexander’s grasp. The king carries him to the bed, kicking away documents littering the floor. He weighs nothing and his breath is faint; if Alexander did not know better, he would have thought he has already died.

It hurts. It hurts but Alexander tries to concentrate. Days are blending into an endless array of blame, pain and tears, and it tears at his nerves, it tears at him to do everything on his own but he cannot stop. He cannot.

He lays Hephaestion down, and the bed immediately swallows his bony frame, his head lolling away as soon as it touches the pillow. Alexander brings the covers up his chin, silk and the softest of goatskins, and then smoothes them for a long time, arranging everything for Hephaestion to be as comfortable as possible. Once done, he kneels by the bed frame, exhausted.

It was supposed to be perfect, Alexander thinks bitterly as he lays his arms down onto the skins, away from Hephaestion. He props his chin on top of them, sighing. It was supposed to be nothing like this. He swallows thickly as he gazes across at Hephaestion, at his grimace. Even under the guidance of Hypnos, his face is pale and miserable. Alexander once dared to hope, dream even, that maybe it was all a passing thing. That there was trouble in paradise but it was fixable, it was going to  be okay.

If Tartarus is anything  like this, Alexander is no longer afraid. Anything would be better than hearing, day in and day out, how much Hephaestion hurts. How much it all does not make sense, how everything is just, just what exactly? And it was all his fault, Alexander knows it, tells of it, reeks of it.

He always knew Hephaestion was not easily satisfied. No, once Hephaestion might have wanted him to suffer, Alexander remembers seeing it not so long ago in his gaze, hearing it in his strained voice. He wanted to stab him through the heart, to make it bleed like he probably had made his. And Alexander knows that this is what he deserves. He knows it and encourages the man, tries to make him react to something, anything. To Bagoas dancing across the room, to the meal being too hot, he wants him to say something other than telling him he wants to die.

Perhaps it is the perfect revenge. No matter how many insults thrown, no matter how many kicks or punches in the past, nothing has hurt Alexander more. He pushes the thought back, far away, but it still comes uninvited. He used to hope that it was him who Hephaestion hated, he, whom he wanted dead.

It hurts, and the words keep on echoing inside of Alexander’s head, they keep on blending into one endless river of pain and blame he cannot take, because it is not being thrown at him anymore. All Hephaestion does nowadays is attend officers’ meetings, attend official business thrown at him, fulfill every task the outside world might want from him.

But once he comes to Alexander, once it is just the two of them, Hephaestion withdraws as far into himself as it is possible. He does not speak unless spoken to, sits down wherever Alexander tells him to and just gazes into the horizon. At first, Alexander thought it was the usual thing. They had quarreled, they had made up and it would be soon back to the old thing. Save, there was nothing to come back to, at least nothing that could be prolonged to imitate the past, after the assassination attempt. Alexander knew it, and Hephaestion? They never really spoke of it after the tumble in the gardens, there was never an occasion to talk about it, now that Hephaestion kept on repeating that it was himself that was the biggest threat to him.

Alexander groans, just thinking about it all again makes his head hurt, and Hephaestion moves on the bed, squirming at the noise.  Alexander observes the delicate, butterfly-like movement of the man’s chest, the way his hair, now well past his shoulders, glistens in the faint torch light. It is hard to believe everything was so perfect, so good not so long ago. Despite all the hurts, and the lies and the loneliness both of them must have felt.

His hand shakes when Alexander extends it to brush at Hephaestion’s cheek, the golden skin curling around his fingers as the man leans into the touch. It never happens when he is awake. It never happens when Alexander wants to say that his punishment has gone on long enough.

 It never happens when he wants to get down on his knees like now, and beg.

Sometimes, all he wants to do is to come back to the old times. And drink, drink, and drink till the edges would start shaking and flowing, till the pain would move from his heart to his throat, till the smoke of the fire would blind him and the void was filled for a while. But then, each time he would be alone. No matter the crowd of generals, the warmth of Bagoas’ thighs, the music filling the air. He would be alone and hate himself, hate the sinking feeling that this was precisely what his life was supposed to be.

Hephaestion had it easier, Alexander thinks to himself, and his throat clenches as he brushes the man’s locks. He has always had it easier, no matter how Alexander would look at it. Nobody expected him to keep everything in balance, nobody wanted him constantly at two different sides of every dispute at the same time.

There are tears prickling at his eyes already, and the heavy, oh so heavy weight is back again, slowing his heartbeat, and his eardrums fill with static, and Alexander is gone, he is gone once more. He has learnt over time to cry more quietly, a fist propped against his mouth to shush the noise. Keeping his head low to stop some of the shaking helps somewhat as well.

It hurts. It hurts so much, his body spasming as he swallows the gasps, swallows the saliva that threatens to spill down his chin. It is all so messy and humiliating, one would think the king would not cry his eyes out like this. The thought just makes it worse, his shoulders shake and he has to lie over his arms, once again propped on the bed to stop from making more sound.

His lungs ache, and throat tickles, and he sometimes has to remind himself to keep on breathing, in and out, in and out, to keep on the verge of consciousness and not topple over.

And Hephaestion sleeps right there, he sleeps like it is the most peaceful night on earth.


	17. Transcendence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Just a little rush, babe_   
>  _To feel dizzy, to derail the mind of me_   
>  _Just a little hush, babe_   
>  _Our veins are busy but my heart's in atrophy_   
>  _Any way to distract and sedate_   
>  _Adding shadows to the walls of the cave_
> 
> **Sedated** by Hozier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Greek:
> 
> * Hekate Soteira - Hekate the saving  
> * Trimorphe - of three forms  
> * Hosanna - a joyous religious exclamation present now in Christian worship: closest translation would be "let it be blessed"  
> * Hekate eulogétos - Hekate be praised

The night is calm, with a starry sky overhead and only scarce torches leading him on. The guards are still there, in the distance, a few steps ahead and behind, watching, guiding him as he plays among the shadows, losing himself from their watchful eyes, reappearing a few metres again not to plant a seed of panic in their weary hearts.

The moon, the moon is but a sixth of its full glory and casts little light. The path to the goddess is clear however, close to the main gate and he dredges on, slowly, oh so slowly like he has done so many times now.

 

He needs luck. He needs fortune. He needs magic. He needs answers for the future.

 

The air is heavy with incense, nauseating smell of myrrh and crushed spices, and it only gets stronger the closer he gets to the entrance. The temple is barren, its white marble walls a sharp contrast to the golden interiors and frescos of the palace. The floor is cold, his feet tapping a gentle echo as he struts on, hidden now from the guards’ view. The temples are sacred however, no struggle and no violence can take place in them.

Alexander stares through the thick cloudlets of smoke, seeing only shadows going to and fro beside him, their silhouettes glimmering in the fire’s light. They murmur and mutter words he cannot understand, their voices cascading around in a hymn. There are a few hearths, sparks flying into the air, higher and higher, as the people nudge the logs to life, the smoke milky and thick, smelling of herbs, smelling of death.

It takes a moment for him to make out the shape of a priestess coming forward to greet him, flowing down the stair, as he comes closer. Her red chiton looks crimson as she makes her way down the main staircase, her silhouette a dark block against the light stone, the smoke obscuring her, her curves smudging and then coming slowly into view again.

At most, she could be past her second child.

 

Alexander stops in his tracks, his eyes following her slow movements. Her hips come into full view first, round and full like a red pomegranate apple. Her hair is long and bright in the orange glow of the fire, thick and heavy under her scarlet shawl, braided through with ivy leaves that snake down her pearly white neck. Her bare feet make no noise as she comes up to him, all grace and transcending beauty, jewelry glistening on her forearms and hands as she opens her arms wide, welcoming and seemingly embracing the whole temple with the dancers, and him, and the suffocating smoke.

The shadows of the silhouettes dance across her body, illuminating and obscuring her as Alexander stands up taller, trying not to cower in the face of the goddess and her messenger.

 

“May you be praised in the name of the almighty,” The eyes of the priestess are glazed over, two dark orbs she closes briefly as she nods at him “he, who comes at her doorstep.” Her voice is nasal and drown-out, as if she has not slept for the past few days, a shadow briefly obscuring her face as hair cascades over her brow.

She creaks her neck, a dull noise of a popping bone as she rolls her hips towards him, her robe moving, dancing among the mist and brushing her ankles, swiping the floor in its wake. The chaos around them seems to have quieted down once she opened her mouth, people still all around, the fire still crackling but all is in the background, the space between them sacred and intimate at once.

Hekate’s grand monument towers over them, the maiden face of the goddess facing Alexander, obscuring the mother and the crone. Her lips and eyes are bright in the stone, cheeks fresh and reflect the moment life opens itself like a fruit to be tasted and conquered, to be promised and offered. Her hair is flowing, curls spread like a veil around her face. There is no wisdom in her face yet, no bitterness etched into wrinkles, marring the features, marring the hope in her unseeing eyes.

 

“Godspeed you, priestess” Alexander mutters, taking his eyes off the statue, an ache forming just behind his vision. She inclines its head at his words, the shadow obscuring the maiden, dancing across her features and her all-knowing smile, which seems only to grow more menacing in the darkness as it disappears from sight.

 

He sighs, running a tired hand through his hair as the woman stares at him, her hands folded before her, her skin glistening, glowing with its own light. 

 

The shadows dance, the smoke comes in wave after wave, encircling them in its milky whiteness and it feels as if they are outside, staring at the sky when she comes closer, closer, and finally too close for comfort, her body taunt and yet soft, so tender and hard, cold and warm when she takes his hand, or both hands, and breathes right into his face, a cloudlet of a breath or maybe two, her face melting away, melting into that of the maiden’s as she whispers softly, ever so softly a melody that goes on and on, twisting and turning in his mind.

When he focuses again, they are still standing opposite each other, her eyes blinking lazily at him. There is a snake on her shoulders, a thin one that drags from her wrist over her neck and down the other arm. Its matted scales are like a dark line over her body, enticing, as Alexander’s gaze follows its slight movement over her white skin, its pink tongue tasting the heavy air as it slides over her body.

He breaths in a fraction deeper, everything slowly deepens into crimson, as she extends her hand, the snake making its way down the bridge of their clasped hands, tasting his skin in its way, slowly, ever so slowly, its warm body enveloping his arm inch by inch, the pressure not noticeable till another starts its journey up his thigh, springy and thicker than the first, its scales harder and actually ticklish as he joins the first one on his hands, lazily making circles round his joints, touching, tasting and radiating warmth. There is another set of hands on him soon enough, skilled palms grasping at his neck, kneading his muscles, digging into the pain and bones, mashing the tension away with each thrust and it feels amazing to be able to stand upright again, to feel the strength return and a groan breaks from his throat, choked and hoarse.

Her kohl-rimmed eyes twinkle in the shadow of her brows, the shawl casting a red glow over her face.  Her eyes burn into him, urging him on, silently telling him that there is no going back. There never was.

She has a cup of wine in her hand now, the fluid sloshing against the golden cusps as she whispers over it, the smell bitter and acrid as she steps closer, her hips bumping into his, her lips full, oh so full as he looks at her from under his own lids, a painful tremor replacing the pleasure from a moment gone by.

“S-soteira, Hek-kate S-Soteira” he gasps “help me-e, please-” the words are heavy on his tongue, and he has to urge himself to repeat them, over and over again, the chain of the prayer breathless as it rolls down his teeth, over, and over his closed eyes and trembling palms, over and over, as the smoke trickles into his skull and fills the void within his muscles, the trembling growing, his silhouette going rigid as the world falls back, falls within the blackness of the temple.

It feels like ages, a blink of an eye, as he whispers the words, as they echo against his palate, slowly, and his ears are full of the silent melody they provide, like a hymn so loud and excruciatingly poignant that the whole earth holds still. He sees the head of the snake, its eyes looking within him, unblinking as its forked tongue slides out, trembling, its pink flesh glistening with bitter saliva as it flicks towards him, smelling him, tasting his fear, his longing, his words.

“Trimorphe” he chokes “oh, hosanna, Trimorphe!”

The belly of the beast slides over his arms, grey and white, a black zig-zag stripe marring the surface of rough scales. The heat pulsates around him as the viper climbs his flesh, slow and decisive, the tongue tickling as it drinks in his sweat and fatigue, the golden eye not leaving his, waiting, judging and forgiving. The weight of the snake is comforting, the odor of rotting meat growing stronger the higher the snake climbs. It rests around his stomach at some point, a heavy arm round his neck and stomach, coiled, forgiving and welcoming. It almost feels like a lover’s caress, flesh on flesh, and comfort of another living being.

The goddess looks into him, her brown eyes peering at him from a newfound height, her warm nostrils grazing his face. He strokes her head, black ears flicking under his fingers playfully, the coarse hair of her coat warm and pulsing under his touch. “Hekate eulogétos!” he calls, burying his face in her thick mane, her muscular neck coiling around him like a snake, bringing him closer, shielding him like Bucephalus has done so many times in battle and hunts before. She whickers softly into him, a lullaby or a warning as she bites down, teeth grazing the outline of the shell of his ear, soft and yet hard as he breathes in the stench of urine and meat, and frayed muscles, and sun dried grass in the summer.

 

Her howling wakes him from his stupor, like a veil being lifted slowly from over his eyes. Her thick mane is long and curly, his back bending over her lean form as he breaths in her radiance and serenity. Then she moves her paw, small and delicate over his hand, its touch scalding. It is Alexander’s turn to blink hazily at her, his eyelids heavy, so heavy under the smoke and the knowing smile of her canine teeth, as her yellow eyes bore into his, judging and accepting all the same. She smells of death and wondrous lively blood, blood that he hears circling and pulsating inside of his ears, threatening to drown them and the whole world as her eyes start to dim at last, closing slowly, ever so slowly and he feels all of his strength leaving him at the same time, satisfaction and fright fueling his slow descent to the floor, away from her warm embrace, the soft feel of her fur.

 

But it is alright. It is amazing and Alexander knows everything will be alright, everything will be like it is supposed to be. Justice will be served and pain will be rewarded, paths illuminated and sleep granted. There is some movement in the corner of his eye and the smell of newly spilled blood and panicked baaing confirm it all.

 

The temple is barren when he wakes up, light seeping into the building like strained streams of milk, dust dancing around the pillars as Alexander looks up, blinking at the frescos above him. Hekate is still there, right beside him, her maiden face still smiling that youthful, sweet stone smile but now it does not irk him. The sculpture looks even more menacing now, by day, all of her features clearly visible, the fearsome beasts surrounding her more frightful than what fur and warm scales he has touched.

He tries his arms and legs, stretching like a cat in the pool of light he lies in, pillows and covers strewn around him in a pleasurable disarray. There are poppies under his right hand, the dried leaves cracking slightly as he moves his hand over a mixture of fresh flowers, pods and stems. There is also a myrtus wreath bathed in blood, black cloudlets of wool still clinging to it from the offering.

Alexander smiles at the sight of blood seeping slowly from the main altar, the smell of smoke long gone. He goes into the palace later that day, no longer bowed down and no longer aching.

 

Justice will be served as is the will of Hekate and thus Zeus, their one father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hekate is a curious case of worship. Demonised by the dawn of Christianity, she was believed to be the favourite among Zeus' children, a goddess vastly worshipped and known among the pagan populace of Greece. She used to take care of nearly all aspects of life, including good fortune, feminity, justice, fertility and love. Only later has she become demonised into what she is known for today - darkness, death, magic and occultism.
> 
> She was depicted either in a full human form or with her emblem animal head's - that of a horse, a serpent or a dog. She was believed to guard to guard the crossroads with the latter, an ever-lasting torch burning in her hand. She was also linked to poison and the realm of magic through her associations with poisonous plants and hallucinogens. She was tasked, akin to Thanatos, with deciding over the punishment or reward for actions of the dead. Her statues usually showed her in three forms: the maiden, the woman/mother and the crone, showcasing all stages of a woman's life, with the figures standing back to back, facing the worshippers. Her standard offering was a black animal, of whatever kind. 
> 
> As another curious fact, she was the one to accompany Demeter in her search for Persephone after Hades abducted her to Tartar; she lead the distraught mother over the whole world and underworld, brightening their path with her blazing torch.
> 
> * Anybody wanting to visualize the snake more clearly, this is the particular breed I wanted to describe: Vipera xanthina. Common in both Greece and Turkey, venomous viper.


	18. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Info on stuff I am doing at the moment

Soooooo yup, no updates so far, and I am really sorry for this. I want to come back to Alexander one day and finish the story the way it was meant to. At the moment however, I am too busy graduating and will have to find a job. All the while investing most of the left-over free-time into writing original poetry rather than doing fanfiction.

To let the bitterness not overflow, I finally located the clips I once wrote about in one of the latest notes to chapters. So, if you need Alexander/Hephaestion in your life, I hope this will be a sweet gift in rectifying no chapters for the story at the moment :)  
* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W66dKiZ5-ug  
* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suM2e58v0p4  
* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=788u_3u4eQI  
* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8hAfTKGR_M

 

Also, if anybody wants to give my original stuff a read, my blog is: https://sleeplesspoetess.wordpress.com/

I'm grateful for every kudo, view and comment you people leave on my works, and thanks so much for making writing so enjoyable. I want to pursue it along a career and if anything goes into print or I embark on a project bigger than the ones I have written on here, will let you people know. Thanks for the love and all the nice things you all ever said to me :)


End file.
